Mudblood Mistress IV
by JoseHood
Summary: Sequel to MMIII. Fourth year. Hermione falls deeper into tumultuous social waters, explores new relationships and follows Dumbledore on a journey to understand the meaning of choices. The world is changing fast. A war is coming. Will the past repeat? AU. Dark/Grey!Hermione
1. Heresy

**A/N:**

 _ **Sequel to**_ **Mudblood Mistress III** _ **. I recommend you read the previous books to know what's up**_

 **The rating had been bumped to M. Language, suggestive content, violence, etc.**

* * *

 **Chapter I**

 **Heresy**

 _It was established that certain very suspect things that had been collected by her for witchcraft were found among her things and that she recognized them as hers, and that she had possessed them. These were: two umbilical cords of infants found in her purse; cloth stained by blood which seemed to be menstrual blood in a leather sack with a seed and slightly burned incense grains; a mirror and a small knife wrapped in a piece of linen; the seed of a plant wrapped in muslin; a piece of dried break which is called "tinhol"; a number of written formulas and pieces of linen. Since it was established that for these reasons there was a great suspicion that this Beatrice was a witch and used spells, my lord bishop asked her why she possessed these items._

Hermione turned to the next page of the large tome. She was nearing the end of the twenty-page confession of a fourteenth century Muggle-born named Beatrice during an inquisition in southern France.

 _She answered:_

 _"I had the cords of the male children of my daughters and I kept them because a Jewish woman, since baptized, had told me that if I carried them with me and I had a legal suit, I would not lose. This is why I took these from my grandchildren and kept them. I never had the occasion to verify their efficacy._

 _"These clothes stained with blood are from the menstrual blood of my daughter Philippa and because this baptized Jew had told me that if I kept some of her first blood and that I gave it to her husband or to another man to drink he would never be interested in another woman…_

 _"I did not put these clothes with the incense grains in order to cast a spell. It was by chance. My daughter had a headache this year and someone told me that incense mixed with other things cures this illness. This is why some of the grains remained in my possession in this bag. I did not have any intention to do anything with them._

 _"Neither the mirror, the wrapped knife, nor the pieces of linen cloth, were intended for magic or a spell._

 _"As for the seed wrapped in muslin, it is a seed of a plant called the bugle. It was given to me by a pilgrim who said that it was efficacious against epilepsy. Since my grandson, the son of my daughter, Condors, suffers from it this year, I wanted to use it. But my daughter said that she had taken him to the church of Saint-Paul and that he had been cured of this illness, and that she did not want me to do anything to her son for his illness. Thus I did not use it."_

 _In light of the fact that she had plainly confessed to in matters of heresy and witchcraft both about herself and others living or dead, that she had greatly repented having committed this and that she wanted to return to union with the Church and the Catholic faith; that she had asked absolution and was also ready to do the penance that my lord the bishop judged good to impose on her for the above listed acts; for these reasons my lord bishop, having received from her the abjuration of heresy and the promise under oath according to the formula of the Church, gave her absolution of the sentences which she had incurred for the crimes_ _of heresy and witchcraft, if she had fully confessed and repented of which had preceded._

 _And the Sunday assigned to the above-named Beatrice, she appeared in the cemetery of Saint-Jean-Martyr of Pamiers and was given the sentence by my lords the bishop and the inquisitor which reads as follows, "Know all ye, etc." See this sentence in the books of sentences of the Inquisition._

Hermione rummaged through her table of books to find the right one. She searched for "Know all ye," and found it quickly.

Beatrice was sentenced to death on the walls of Carcassonne, but, because she repented for being born with an extraordinary gift, the sentence was commuted to wearing a yellow cross for the rest of her life – a mark of a heretic.

The worst part was that Beatrice was obviously never fully aware of what exactly she was. A Muggle-born in the middle ages that flew under everybody's radar – she never received any formal education on magic. She was never shown what she was capable of. The previous twenty pages were full of her accounts of incredibly gullibility, or a deep longing to fit in. She believed anything anyone told her about faith or mysticism, and was talked into carnal activities by what seemed like the whole village, priests included. One man told her that she would not become pregnant if she wore a bit of herb wrapped in cloth around her neck when they did the deed. She never saw the herb, nor did he allow her to keep it, for fear that she lay with another man without fear of pregnancy. No doubt the herb was probably just some clumped up grass.

This was a story of a woman abandoned by her peers and left to the claws of cruel, ignorant and pejorative Muggles. Her family probably wanted to keep her powers quiet. Her own daughter told her to stay far away from her family. It was no wonder that she latched onto anything that made her feel like she belonged.

And she was burned for it. Perhaps not literally – though that was a close call. No, those Muggles marked for as a heretic for the rest of her life. A pariah. Forever.

"Hey."

Hermione blinked and looked up. It was incredible how the rest of the library just melted away when she read. Hermione appreciated the Hogwarts Library, but it was nothing compared to even the smallest library in Watford. Hogwarts may have books on all sorts of magic, but it was constricted by size and educational necessity. History of Magic class didn't cover the Inquisition. It barely covered Goblin rebellions in any satisfactory way.

There was a guy standing across the table from her. He was somewhere between a man and a boy. He could easily fit into the upper years of Hogwarts, for all she could tell. She made out some sort of nametag on his shirt. It said Jake. He was smiling at her. "I couldn't help noticing your kit. Porter's your favorite?"

Hermione glanced at her black and gold jersey. "I guess. To be honest, I haven't watched them for a few years so I can't really say who's my favorite."

"Why not?"

"I go to school up in the hinterlands of Scotland. There's no television up there."

He winced. "A shame. So why buy a new shirt?"

She shrugged. "It was a bribe."

He laughed. "From whom?"

"My parents," Hermione murmured, looking back at Beatrice's confession. "We didn't leave on the best terms last year."

Jake nodded. A moment of silence went by. He surveyed the giant stack of books on the table. "I'd ask you if there's anything you need, but you seem all set." He picked one up and looked at the title. "The Inquisition? Are you working on a school project?"

"Nope," she said. "Personal study."

He nodded again, followed by the same silence.

"We don't get many people our age in here during the summers. At least, not many who stay as long as you have."

Hermione glanced up. "As long as me?"

"Well, I've seen you a lot this summer. And today, you came in this morning, and I didn't see you leave for lunch, and now you are still here when I'm about to get off work."

"It's fascinating reading."

"You're quite determined."

"I've been told so."

Another gap of silence. But he didn't leave. Hermione was wondering when he would. If he would. Hermione had readings to do. And then she had to get home before her parents got angry with her.

"Hey, you want to go grab some dinner with me?"

She looked up and blinked. "Dinner?"

"Yeah. I know this place down the street."

"I'm not hungry…" she said slowly. Not that she wasn't flattered, but… this was not what she had in mind for the evening.

"You've been here for hours," he smiled. "Get some food so you can digest all of _this_ ," he waved at the piles of books.

"Uh…"

"Come on, dinner on me. A date on a nice summer evening, what more could you ask?"

"I…" Hermione grasped desperately for an excuse. "I – I have a boyfriend," she stammered.

He didn't look convinced. "Do you?"

She hesitated. "Yes…"

"You don't seem very sure about it."

"I do," she said more confidently.

"What's his name?" he grinned.

"Draco."

"And where is this mister Draco? Why isn't he here with you?"

"He went to the World Cup."

Jake raised his eyebrows. "He didn't take you?"

"He went with his family. And a family friend."

"Family friend? How close?"

"Close enough," Hermione huffed. "Besides, she's my friend too…"

Jake raised his eyebrows. "She? He took another girl but not you?"

Hermione tried to shrug it off. "That's not the point."

"Sure it is. The World Cup was last month. Is he still off with her?"

"No, the World Cup is still going on…" Hermione trailed off. Muggle World Cup. _Shit_.

"The World Cup was in July," he shook his head. "Brazil won on penalties. If he's not back yet, I'm sure a little dinner with me won't cause too much trouble."

Hermione screwed up her face. He seemed nice and all… but it would never work out. For so many reasons. So she threw in her trump card.

"I'm fourteen."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

Hermione walked a few blocks from the library. The sun was almost set and light was fading fast. And she was actually fairly hungry. She didn't want to walk all the way home. She could catch the bus… but that still entailed a fair bit of walking.

Draco had told her of a quicker wizarding transportation vehicle. The Knight Bus.

She turned off onto a less populated street and peered both ways. Draco said the Muggles wouldn't notice, but, well, he was prone to hyperbole at times. All clear. Hermione stuck her wand hand in the air and waved.

Nothing happened for a moment. Then there was a shriek and a bang. A purple triple-decker bus erupted out of thin air and screeched to a halt in front of her. The door popped open. Hermione stood there dumbfounded.

A skinny guy was leaning against a pole inside examining a paper. After a second, he tuned to her. "You coming on, girlie?"

Hermione shook herself into motion and climbed aboard. "Uh, I'm not quite sure how this works…"

The conductor shut his paper with a slap and stood taller. "A newbie! Hear that, Ern?"

A diabolical laugh emanated from behind the steering wheel.

"Here," the guy said, pulling Hermione fully inside and sitting her down at the front. "I'm Stan. Ern drives this automobus. All you gotta do is tell us were you going and we'll be there in a jif. Well, yew gotta pay a few sickles, yeah, but nothing beats the service of our Knight Bus."

"Okay," Hermione said, taking a look around. The bus wasn't very full. The few passengers that were on board were near the back and she couldn't make them out. "You can take me to Cassio Road. Watford."

"Oi, yew 'ear that, Ern?" Stan shouted way too loud.

Another bout of laughter drifted back. There was a hiss and the bus shot forward. Hermione was thrown back into her seat, but Stan just wrapped himself around his pole and leered at her. "That's gonna be eight sickles."

Hermione dug into her pocket and deposited the desired sum in his outstretched hand. Stan counted it carefully and threw it in a bucket up front. He opened up his paper with a snap and stood there, swaying from his pole.

The paper showed a twinkling black and white picture. It was a whitish skull against black. It took her a few seconds to recognize the night sky. The skull also had a snake slithering from its mouth. Hermione's heart caught. She had a vision of Tom for a moment.

The title of the article was **SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP**.

Stan lowered the paper to cough into his elbow and saw her staring. "Haven't seen it yet, have you?"

Hermione shook her head, transfixed by the glittering skull. "What happened? Is everyone okay?"

Stan shrugged. "Skeeter makes it out to be more'n it is. I heard a few Muggles got themselves tossed in the air, see? Here, take a look." He shoved the paper into her hands.

 **SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP** _by Rita Skeeter_

 _On what should have been a wondrous night for all of the Irish fans who came out for this glorious event (see page three for a full match report), a dismal display of security blighted the celebrations. The campsite, which housed many hundreds of fans from across the globe, was attacked in the deep of night by masked men. Many tents were reduced to ashes and multiple witnesses report scenes of panic as the Ministry attempted, in vain, to contain the incident._

 _A series of Ministry blunders left the culprits on the loose. There were reports of up to fifty dark wizards joining in the terrible revel, at the expense of the general public. Wizards from as far as Zanzibar attempted to flee, but, due to the Ministry's_ security measures _, there were anti-apparition wards in place all around the campsite. People were herded into the nearby forest in the dozens._

 _Here is where our reports split from those issued by the ministry. My faithful contributors testify that once in the forest, some never came back out. The Dark Mark was cast above the forest (see picture). No one needs to be told what that means._

 _There were sightings of bodies being moved between the trees, but the ministry denies everything. One official issued a statement from the edge of the woods saying that no one had been hurt, but nothing more. How can this be trusted? Eyewitnesses spotted the Dark Mark more than half an hour before this statement was issued. Why the delay? Why leave the public in a state of panic?_

 _Unless there is more to the story than we are being told. I, for one, would like to know the truth._

"Not much innit, eh?" Stan said, pulling a strip of gum from his pocket and chomping down.

"It's not very clear on what exactly happened," Hermione bit her lip, turning the page. "Was anyone hurt?"

Stan shrugged. "Don't seem like it."

The bus shuddered and came to an abrupt stop. Hermione was flung against the railing in front of her.

That laughter echoed from the front cabin.

"Cassio Road," Stan chewed his gum. "Pleasure having your company, miss. Call anytime."

Hermione returned his paper and thanked him before stepping off the bus. An instant later, it was gone. She walked the last block home under the streetlights. Hermione was met with the angry face of Helen the moment she walked through the door.

"There's an owl in the kitchen, Hermione. An _owl_. In my kitchen."

Hermione suppressed a grin. "Who's it for?"

Helen pushed a letter into her hand with a scowl. "I want it out."

Hermione recognized the script. She rushed into the kitchen and saw Draco's tawny owl. She gave the bird a loving scratch on the head and ripped open the letter.

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _I'm sorry I couldn't bring you to the World Cup. Father couldn't get any more tickets. Somehow ALL of the Weasleys showed up in the top box, so you can blame them. I mean, seriously, HOW? And they brought POTTER. I don't care what Father says, Fudge is in Dumbledore's back pocket._

 _Anyway, it was great, but I wish you were here. Mother says you must come over before the semester begins, and I agree. We were going to do our shopping at Diagon Alley this weekend. Would you like to meet there? You can bring your trunk and stay at the Manor and leave from here._

 _See you soon,_

 _Draco_

Hermione sprung to the doorway. "Dad, can you drop my off at Diagon Alley on Saturday? I can meet some friends and stay with them until we're off to Hogwarts."

Her father looked to Helen, who shrugged. "Sure, dear. Just make sure your packed and ready to go on time."

Hermione was back at the table before he finished, grabbing a pen and paper.

 _Dear Draco,_

 _I'll be there._

 _Are you all right? I heard about what happened at the World Cup. Were you there? Did anyone get hurt? What really happened? The article wasn't very in-depth._

 _I'll have to thank Ronald some way for taking up all the seats. I've got a few ideas, but I'm sure you can think some up as well._

 _Love,_

 _Hermione_

* * *

 **Consider this a teaser/prologue as I'm going to hold off on posting the next chapter until I have everything in line (about a month is my guess, I'm aiming for September 16th).**

 **This book should be the peak of romance/teen drama of the series. More on the drama side, though, really. Hermione's relationships are seeping into her life and will influence the story a lot more this year, but I hold to my | NOT A ROMANCE| stance. Pairings = Do Not Exist. **

**Beatrice was a real person and the excerpts are quoted from a translation. Medieval history... Hermione is kind of a nerd, am I right?**


	2. Return

**Chapter II**

 **Return**

Hermione was packed that very night. All she had to do was wait.

Draco wrote her back the next day saying he was completely fine. Hermione was relieved, though she knew it was an unnecessary feeling. Of course he was. Narcissa and Lucius would never let anything happen to him.

So she was on to waiting. She avoided the library. No need to run into Jake again. Though she suspected he was avoiding her as well.

It was slow going.

She was up by six o'clock Saturday morning. She was showered and dressed and on to breakfast in half an hour. She watched the clock tick by, second by second, minute by minute. It was a quarter past nine when her father finally ordered everything in the car and they were off.

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

Hermione left her father on the sidewalk of London and entered the Leaky Cauldron. Once inside, she levitated her trunk, grinning. It had been too long. _Magic._

"Hermione!"

She turned to see the blonde glamour of Narcissa Malfoy approaching her. She was wearing a forest green dress, her usual array of expensive jewelry. Her hair was pulled back into a bun and held in place with a silver pin with sparkling emerald at the tip.

"Narcissa!" Hermione beamed. The woman swept her up in a hug

"It is good to see you, dear. We can catch up later – they're out in the Alley. I'll take your trunk up to our room. Go on!" Narcissa commandeered her trunk, lifting it up the stairs. Hermione ran out into Diagon Alley.

She had been hunting for no more than a minute before she saw them. The contrast of hair could not have been more evident. Daphne, Astoria and Nott's dark against Draco's stark light. The first of the quartet to notice her was Astoria, and she jumped at the sight and dashed forward.

"Hermione!" she shouted, wrapping herself around Hermione. "It's been for _ev_ er!" Hermione squeezed her in kind.

Next came Draco. "Hey."

Hermione's lips had the irresistible notion to curl into a smile. "Hey," she said back to him.

There was a moment's hesitation, then Draco grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close for a kiss. Hermione relaxed in his arms, a summer of doubt fading away.

She was brought out of her bliss by Astoria's squeal of delight. Hermione broke the kiss, feeling her face heat. Draco smirked. "Hey," he repeated.

Hermione saw Daphne and Nott approaching over Draco's shoulder. Nott was speaking in a low voice to Daphne, a look of revulsion on his face. Daphne rolled her eyes at him. "Hello, Hermione," she said. "Nice summer?"

Hermione grabbed Draco's hand firmly. "It was alright. You?"

"As well as one with Astoria can be," she purred, giving her little sister the evil eye.

Astoria hummed back at her. "She's just angry that I got a better mark in Defence than she did."

Daphne flared her nostrils. "See what I have to deal with? Lupin was a _werewolf_ , Astoria."

"So what?" Astoria snorted. "He was still the professor. And I got an 'O'."

The older sister shook her head. "Unbelievable."

"Maybe if you studied with Hermione you'd get an 'O', too," Astoria stuck out her tongue.

Daphne lifted her chin and did not deign to respond, but her complexion was a bit rosy.

At that moment, Narcissa joined them. Lucius Malfoy followed several yards behind, conversing with a witch with bouncy blonde curls and too much makeup. A pad of paper floated between them, a quill scribbling frantically. "Lucius is giving an interview to the Prophet," Narcissa explained, marshalling them down the street. "Don't interrupt."

Hermione strained her ears to catch Lucius' words from over her shoulder. "Nobody is too pleased with the Ministry right now," he was saying to the reporter. "It was a national disgrace – one on display for the world to see. The Ministry has let us all down. They spent so much time pushing through a bill protecting Muggles – one that I still maintain is _not_ wanted by the majority of the populace – while they can't even protect our own citizens. We need to think of ourselves before we think of Muggles."

The witch nodded thoughtfully. Hermione had to stare at her before recognizing her from the Malfoy's Christmas party. Rita Skeeter. "Do you believe that the current administration is at fault?"

"I know Cornelius, he's a good man – but I believe he is being advised by the wrong wizards. The World Cup is just the latest catastrophe his people have gotten him into."

"Latest catastrophe?"

"The whole Sirius Black debacle last year. He spent nine months in and around Hogwarts. What did the DMLE suggest? Throwing a horde of Dementors at children. Dumbledore discovered that Black had gained entry into the castle by November, at the latest. Did Amelia Bones assign Aurors to the castle to protect our children? No. Did the Dementors catch him? No.

"Furthermore, I have it on good authority that Dumbledore, in addition to knowing that the werewolf Lupin suffered from lycanthropy, knew that he and Black were old school friends – and in contact with each other right up to the day that Black was imprisoned!"

" _Scandalous!_ " Rita cackled. "This is on the back of the incident two years ago, when there were attacks on students and a teacher died under mysterious circumstances. Would you say that Dumbledore's age has been catching up with him recently?"

Lucius nodded. "I'll say that this has been a long time coming. He was old when I attended Hogwarts. That was more than two decades ago. He has only gotten older, Rita. There comes a point when we must let go of sentimentality to keep a hold of sanity, else senility will drag us down. Dumbledore has served the school for close to a century. I believe it is time for new leadership."

"Your views must not be in line with the Governors of Hogwarts. Is that why you resigned following the '92-'93 school year?"

"Indeed," Lucius pulled a sneer that covered a snarl. "The Governors would not see reason. They were raised to revere the old man. I felt that I could no longer guide the institution from the inside, constantly voted down by Dumbledore's sycophants. Perhaps I was too hasty. I would have never allowed a _werewolf_ inside the school. And now he wants to install that insane ex-auror?"

"Mad-Eye Moody," Rita provided.

"There is a reason they call him _Mad_ -Eye. To say the man is paranoid would be a vast understatement. One sudden movement from a first year in his class and he will fry the hair off the poor kid's head. I cringe to think of what half-cocked ideology he will try to instill in my son. My only relief is that Draco has a good head on his shoulders. The boy knows when he is being taught by a crackpot – he's been taught by at least one each year he has attended."

Hermione saw Draco grin and she squeezed his hand.

"Come on, let's start shopping," Narcissa said, shooing the quintet away from Lucius and Skeeter.

"I have heard rumors of what has been planned for this year, and I am worried what may come of it…" Lucius was saying as the group walked away.

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

The group entered Madam Malkin's saddled with books and new quills and rolls of parchment. Narcissa had them dump everything on the floor as she marshalled them for Madam Malkin. "Alright. Boys, you should get measured to see if you need new school robes. And then we'll get some dress robes, too." Draco wrinkled his nose. " _Yes_ , Draco, dress robes," his mother said sternly. "And the girls will need dresses."

"Dresses?" Hermione asked. Astoria also looked a bit puzzled, but Daphne was still wearing her mask of contempt towards her sister.

"Yes. You are young women now, and I suspect you will have the opportunity to show it this year."

"Very well," Malkin said, moving the boys onto stools. "I'll get the measurements for the boys first. If you go through that door," she pointed off to the left, "I have a collection of dresses. If none of them fit your likes, I can always measure you for a special order."

The trio of girls moved off to the other room; Astoria giddy, Hermione confused, Daphne sour. Narcissa stayed behind to fix Draco with such a stare that he daren't complain.

The room was filled with dresses of all sizes, colors and materials, hanging from clothing racks lined up wall to wall. It wasn't much different from the few department stores Hermione had been to, though these dresses didn't seem to be brand new. They didn't have tags, nor did all have that crisp feeling of clothes straight out of the box. There were signs of wear on a few, fraying edges, a ghost of a stain. No two were alike. Hermione guessed they were second-hand. Maybe even hand-made, as well.

She walked up and down the aisles. A lot were either too gaudy or too… medieval for Hermione's tastes. Astoria mirrored her movements, searching her own aisle. Daphne stood at the rack closest to the door, picking at a black, lacey dress.

"Do you know what Narcissa – Mrs. Malfoy – meant? Is there something we _need_ a dress for?"

Astoria shrugged.

"Maybe," Daphne said.

Hermione watched her out the corner of her eye. She dropped the dress and moved to another with the same lack of enthusiasm. "How was the World Cup?"

"Fine," she said.

"Daph said the game was excellent," said Astoria. "Krum was brilliant, but Ireland's chasers were magnificent."

"It was fine," Daphne repeated.

"You don't sound like you had fun," Hermione said. She had hoped that she would become friends with Daphne after the Malfoys' party last summer. She had been pleasant then. Friendly, even. But relations had soured over the last few months of the year. Hermione didn't appreciate Daphne's… proximity to Draco. She was still silently seething that the Malfoys had invited _her_ to the World Cup.

"It's never ideal to share a box with a single Weasley, let alone the whole brood," Daphne said without looking up.

"You had Draco for company," said Hermione, probing. She wouldn't say jealousy was in her nature. But she had her limits.

Daphne only shrugged and moved to the next row.

Hermione examined the dress before her. It was soft and silky smooth with a bright green sheen.

"That one looks pretty, Hermione," said Astoria, coming to her side. They lifted it together. Astoria placed it up against Hermione. She wouldn't say it was modest. The cut of the bodice was a good inch or two lower than anything Hermione would usually consider wearing, but nor was it too provocative like the outfits Hermione had seen Muggle girls wearing out to clubs. It was not spandex, showing every crack and crevice of her body, nor did it bare any irregular patches of skin. The shoulders were rather frilly bits of cloth covering the straps – another thing Hermione did particularly care for, but, overall, it was quite pretty, as Astoria said. And she did like the color. "It looks like it would fit you, too," the girl said. "You should try it on." Astoria only let her hesitate a moment before giggling with glee and rushing her over to one of those wooden, foldable changing curtains.

She was a bit nervous. Hermione had never used one before. She knew that no one could see through it – at least, not that she knew of – but that didn't negate the fact that it was _not_ a changing room. It was not enclosed. It was a curtain, nothing more. Hermione had gotten used to the feeling of undressing around other people. She shared a room with four other girls for most of the year and it was impossible to avoid such situations. However, this was not getting dressed in her dormitory. It was not her room with Daphne, Tracey and Millie, or even Pansy. She had three years to acclimate to them. And it was _their_ room. This was a public area. Anyone could walk through the door and around the curtain. That was not something that made Hermione too comfortable.

Even so, the chances of that happening were slim. And Astoria probably wouldn't let her out without seeing the dress. So Hermione pulled off her shirt slowly, watching the edge of the curtain with suspicion. She laid it over the top of the curtain and quickly wriggled her way into the dress, pulling it down all the way to her waist as fast as she could. From there, she removed her jeans at the same time as pulling down the skirt section, minimizing the amount of time in a compromising state of dress. Only when the dress was fully deployed and her jeans around her ankles did she realize that she was still wearing her shoes. Bending over to untie them, she tried stepping forward to balance herself, but tripped on her pants. Hermione fell out from behind the curtain and onto the floor.

"Oh, are you okay?" asked Astoria, rushing to help her.

"Yes, I'm fine," Hermione said. She sat up and tugged off her shoes. Astoria pulled her up and Hermione stepped out of her rolled-up jeans.

"That looks wonderful on you," Narcissa said, entering the room smiling.

Hermione turned to a mirror. The skirt turned out to be several frilly layers on top of one another, but nothing too gaudy. It did look quite good, she thought. Narcissa moved in behind her and gathered up Hermione's hair in her slender fingers. "What do you think, Astoria? A braid, a bob?" Narcissa began manipulating Hermione's hair into different approximations of hairstyles. "It would take some work to get it to sit nicely pulled up," she said, adjusting her hands to keep the chocolate curls resting atop Hermione's head. "But I think it might be worth it."

"I don't know if that would be… _Hermione_ ," Astoria murmured.

Narcissa tilted her head just so, staring intently at Hermione through the mirror. "Perhaps not," she said, letting the hair fall naturally. "What do you have in mind, Astoria?"

The younger girl bounced away and retrieved a simple pink dress, not all that different from Hermione's, from a nearby rack. She returned and held it up to herself. "What do you think?"

"Not bad at all," Narcissa said. Hermione backed off, returning to the curtain to get dressed again. "But are you sure you want that one? I'm sure Olivia wouldn't want you to settle. If Daphne is getting a custom dress, I'm sure you can too…"

Hermione reclaimed her bunched-up jeans from the floor and pulled them on, displacing the skirt. Astoria appeared next to her suddenly. She threw her own dress over the curtain. "You don't mind, do you?" she said, already stripping. Hermione shrugged noncommittally and turned away from her. She removed the rest of her dress and quickly replaced it with her shirt. She slipped on her shoes and walked out from behind the curtain. Narcissa and Madam Malkin had positioned Daphne on a stool in front of another mirror on the far side of the room. Hermione made her way over.

"Black," Daphne said.

"Black?" Malkin asked, retrieving her magical measuring equipment. "Not very imaginative, but I suppose it is your choice. Do you have any thoughts on the design?"

"A few," responded Daphne. "My mother and I have spoken about it. She said she would find someone to do sketches this week."

"Hmm. She'll have to come in at a later date, then. But unless you mean to miss the Express, I'll need to take measurements now." Daphne nodded, standing still. Malkin waited for a second, then said, "You'll need to take off you dress, dear."

Daphne turned sharply. "I'll what?"

"The extra material will interfere with precise measurements. I intend to make a dress that fits perfectly for you, and I expect your mother will require nothing less. So you need to strip, dear." Daphne turned back to the mirror and hesitated. "Don't worry, dear, we're all girls here. Nothing we haven't seen before."

Daphne made an annoyed noise and began to disrobe. She handed the clothes to Narcissa and stood there silently, arms crossed over her chest, eyes cast off at the ceiling. Hermione had seen Daphne undress many times; the girl's pale skin was not a new sight. However, Daphne was acting oddly embarrassed. Her cheeks were tinged pink. She Hermione caught her eye briefly in the mirror and Daphne looked away quickly. Perhaps, Hermione thought, she felt similarly to Hermione. Undressing at 'home', in front of the girls, was not much trouble. But a public place… Hermione understood her anxiousness.

Malkin was working her way around Daphne, the measuring tape whipping to and fro. Astoria walked up next to Hermione. "What do you think?" The dress fit her in more ways than one. It was a happy dress, bubbly, but not overly showy.

"It's perfect for you," she said, and Astoria beamed.

"What do you think, Daph?"

Daphne eyed her little sister. "Not my style."

Astoria snorted. "Of course not. What about it for me?"

"I think you should order your own dress. Mother would help you –"

Astoria frowned. "Why? Hermione doesn't need a whole new dress."

"Hermione doesn't – have _our_ mother, Astoria."

Astoria crossed her arms. "I like it."

Daphne shook her head. "Mother expects –"

Hermione stepped back quietly. She was just returned to the magical world. Family squabbles weren't high on her list of things to get involved in. And she would invariably be brought into the discussion at some point. She made her way through the racks and back out into the main shop. She found Draco and Theo lounging in the entrance area. Hermione took the seat next to Draco.

"You're done?" he asked. She nodded. "The others?"

"Daphne wants Malkin to make a dress for her," Hermione said. "So she needs special measurements."

"And Astoria?" Nott said, tracing a crack on the armrest with his finger nail.

"She picked out a dress from the rack, like me."

Nott made an almost inaudible grunt. Or hum. She couldn't tell.

"How long?" said Draco. Hermione could only shrug. She had no idea. They sat in silence for a minute. "Want to go to Knocktern Alley?" Draco asked. "There's no point just sitting around. We're going to be doing plenty of that at school. Let's go take a look around."

Nott took a second before nodding.

"Sure," Hermione said. "I'll just go tell Narcissa."

She reentered the dress room and walked to the group. Daphne was still up on the stool. "Narcissa?" she said, and the blonde woman turned to her. "Draco, Theodore and I are going to go walk around."

"Very well," she said. "But don't be too long."

"Wait for me!" Astoria cried, dashing over to the curtain to get out of her dress.

"Oh, you can leave the dress here with me," said Narcissa.

"Right," Hermione said, turning over the silky green dress and digging out the appropriate coins from her pockets. She returned to Draco and Theo and told them they were waiting for Astoria. They younger girl appeared after half a minute and they were off.

The summer sun shone down, warm and inviting, on the quartet. Diagon Alley was all hustle and bustle, groups of witches and wizards roving around in packs. Draco led them forward, and Hermione moved up beside him and held his hand in hers. Theodore Nott wasn't going to ruin a lovely afternoon with her best friend, even if he tried. And Hermione didn't put that beyond him.

But Nott did not do anything uncouth as they passed by the Quidditch shop – _God bless_ , Hermione thought – and could be heard making polite, if short and stilted, conversation with Astoria. Mostly concerning how her summer was and if she was looking forward to Hogwarts. Astoria replied as politely and shortly as Nott. Pureblood customs, Hermione guessed. Awkward conversations were evidently superior to awkward silences. Hermione could imagine how Draco and Daphne behaved towards each other during the World Cup, stuck together under the watchful eye of Lucius Malfoy and the Minister of Magic.

Except they hadn't seemed all that awkward together last year.

Hermione bit her lip. And everything had felt so pleasant. "How was the World Cup?" she asked in an innocent voice, but she watched Draco's face out of the corner of her eye.

"The game was fantastic," he said immediately, a smile breaking out. "Krum is an amazing player. Bulgaria would have won if they had _any_ decent possession."

"You enjoyed yourself?"

"Mmm," he hummed. "Wouldn't have missed it."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Oh? You had fun with Daphne?"

Draco winced. "You're still worried about that?"

She repressed a growl. "Draco, you took another girl with you to a prestigious public event. Remember what I said?"

"Yeah, well, it's not like that," Draco readjusted his hand in hers. Their palms had begun to moisten in the summer heat. "My parents invited her. It's not my fault. They're friends with the Greengrasses and Daphne loves Quidditch. You don't even like the game. Would you even _want_ watch the World Cup?"

Hermione raised her chin. "I would have gone with you."

"If my parents _had_ another ticket, I'd have invited you, then. But we didn't. Bagman bought out they entire rest of the top box for the _Weasleys_. If you want to be cross at someone, aim it at them."

A low grumble escaped Hermione's throat. He wasn't wrong. She _could_ be making things out to be more than they were. It wouldn't be the first time. She would have bet her magic that Harry Potter had been the Heir of Slytherin for several moments during her second year – to the point of breaking any number of school rules to squeeze a confession out of him. That worked out _brilliantly_.

"Hermione, you're my girlfriend, not Daphne," Draco said. "A 'public event' is not going to change that."

Hermione could feel the rays of the sun being absorbed in her hair, slowly warming the back of her neck. It was still summer. Holiday. Not a time to fight or worry. So she let it go, for now. But it would not be last, she could fell it. She believed Draco, yes, but that did not mean it was calm waters ahead. Especially if Daphne started encroaching. That was something Hermione could not allow.

Draco took Hermione's silence as acceptance. He turned the group off the main drive and down the shadowy path to Knocktern Alley. They had to go single file as the corridor narrowed. Draco took the front, followed by Hermione and then Astoria. Hermione saw Nott at the back staring down anyone who passed them in the other direction.

They followed a route familiar to Hermione and soon found themselves at the door to Borgin and Burkes. A favorite of Draco's, perhaps. Hermione made a mental note to find a Christmas present for him here. Though, Hermione thought as the tiny bell rang to announce the door had opened, she didn't have the slightest clue which item here would be the most useful, or welcome.

The shop didn't seem to have been cleaned since last summer. The musky scent still hung in the air with the little dust particles. It felt like she was breathing in history. A dry, stuffy history.

"I've never been here," said Astoria, gazing across the shop.

"How have you never been in Borgin and Burkes?" Nott said with a quizzical look.

Astoria shrugged. "Mum and dad never took me."

Draco stepped in front of a large wooden cabinet and took a peek inside. "My mother told me a story about my great-uncle Phineas Nigelus. Used to have cabinet like this. He'd be able to step inside and appear in another cabinet, somewhere else." He leaned to one side and picked up what looked like a gearbox from a table. He placed the contraption inside the cabinet and closed the door.

"Are you sure you should be doing that?" Hermione asked. "If it does work, won't you have to pay for that thing?"

Draco grinned. "Pay for what?" He opened the door. The gearbox was still there. He sighed. "The Blacks are an old family. Can't expect something out of _every_ cabinet you find."

Nott was inspecting a severed hand in a glass box. It was holding what looked like a half-used candle.

Hermione moved over to the front desk. In the display case was the collection of King Arthur's regalia. Or that's what Hermione thought of it as. There were no labels. Only a few necklaces, a dusty goblet, and a sword that had a bit of rust and a few chips out the edges. She wondered if Draco would like a sword… but that would probably be too expensive. Even with the defects.

The door behind the counter opened with a creak. "…don't sell him anything, Borgin. He's not good for it," said a crackly voice.

The old man from the previous summer hobbled out of the back room, holding something wrapped in brown cloth. "I never refuse galleons, Galmor," he said.

"Take care not be fooled by illusion," said the first voice, though Hermione could not see the body.

Borgin set the bag down and made his way slowly around the counter. "I am rarely fooled."

When the old man turned the corner, he was not alone. Walking with him, head not quite reaching counter-level, was a particularly cranky looking goblin holding a small sack that jingled in his hand. He wore a fancy vest and a brown coat, tailored to his small body. The right side of his face sported a swath of skin bearing the signs of bad a burn, and there were scars across his forehead like claw marks. There was a nick out of his right ear, right above a stocky, small iron earring. He swept the room with his black eyes until the settled on Hermione. The goblin stopped dead in his tracks, baring his teeth. "Who are you?" he demanded, pointing a claw at her.

Hermione took an involuntary step backwards. "Me?"

"You, witch!" he hissed.

"I'm Hermione," she said, looking at Mr. Borgin, who was watching the goblin and scratching his chin.

"Of what clan?" the goblin snarled.

"Uh… Granger…" Hermione saw Draco take a step towards her with his hand in pocket.

"What's it to you, goblin?" Draco said, an edge to his voice.

The little creature stared at Hermione with squinted eyes. A little growl escaped his pointy teeth. "Nothing, wizard," he said after a moment, barely sparing Draco a glance. The goblin slipped the sack of coins into his jacket and eyed Borgin. "I will be going, then."

The old wizard grunted, returning to behind the counter. The goblin shuffled out, giving Hermione a wide berth. Borgin carefully unwrapped his package on the countertop, revealing a bejeweled, golden crown. The man lifted the crown slowly with the tips of four of his fingers and bent over, maneuvered it below and into the show case. He set it to rest next to Guinevere's necklace and stood. He caught Hermione watching and his lip curled. "Bidding starts at five hundred galleons, miss."

Hermione furrowed her brow. "How much did you just buy it for? That goblin's moneybag didn't seem all that full."

Borgin's evil grin widened. "Enough to get it off him. I find hasty patrons good for business."

"I'm in no hurry to purchase anything so… ostentatious," said Hermione. Five hundred galleons was well above her price-range… though she couldn't say she wouldn't look good in a crown. Perhaps if it were still sitting in the shelf a decade down the road…

The little bell on the door chimed softly. A tall witch, nearly as dark as her black robes – jewelry to rival even Narcissa – marched into the store. Her eyebrows were sharp and she held herself like royalty.

"Ah, Mrs. Klein," Borgin snapped to attention.

"Borgin," the woman said severely, "You should know that it is Mrs. Pierre now."

"Yes, quite," the man nodded. "You are such a… prolific woman, my old brain can't keep up. What was the one before…?"

"I don't recall," she said, fixing the old man with a dangerous stare.

"Baines, was it?" the man chuckled. "That one lasted for a while. And before that it was Zabini…"

"Do you have my order, or not?" she snapped.

Borgin nodded, waving her behind the counter. She swept by Hermione as if she was not there and followed into the back room. It was then that she noticed that the woman had not entered alone. Standing there, hands in pocket, was Blaise Zabini. He was not as dark as his mother but was similar to her in other ways. Tall, well-dressed, smug. Handsome, perhaps. But Hermione hadn't gotten to know him well enough to formulate her own opinion of him.

Draco came up alongside Hermione, putting an arm around her, and nodded at Zabini. "Blaise. I didn't know you frequented this area of the Alley. Is mummy preparing a change of scenery?"

Zabini fixed him with a cold stare to rival his mothers. His expression swiftly changed to amusement, with a quizzical raise of his eyebrows. "Interesting company you've got here, Miss Greengrass. Are you sure you're alright?" he said to Astoria. "A Nott, a Malfoy, and a…" he turned to Hermione, "Well, we're not quite sure _what_ you are, are we?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione said through a tight jaw.

"You defy all labels, Granger," he said simply, shrugging.

"A compliment, I hope?" she replied.

Zabini shrugged again. "Take it as you will."

"I am quite alright," Astoria said clearly. "These are my friends."

The boy's chest quivered like he suppressed a laugh. "Malfoys – friends? Pardon me, Draco, but your family isn't really known for their strong 'friendships'."

"I've found Draco's family to be quite hospitable," said Hermione.

"Said Duncan at Inverness," Zabini grinned.

"What are you talking about?" said Draco.

"Oh, nothing," said Zabini. The door to the back room opened again and Mrs. Zabini – or Klein or Pierre or Baines – came out with a bottle, quickly stuffed into a bag.

"I guarantee that it will fulfill your needs completely," Borgin said.

"I should hope so," she said, walking out from behind the counter briskly. "Blaise," she snapped her fingers as she passed him.

Zabini stood there for a moment before saying, "If you ever want better company, Greengrass… well, Millicent and I can throw a hell of a party," he smirked. "Your sister can come – and even Granger, I suppose." Zabini cast another appraising look at Draco and Nott, then he pivoted and set off after his mother, the little doorbell ringing in his wake.

Hermione waited several seconds before saying, "That was odd, wasn't it?"

Draco shrugged. "We haven't gotten on with Blaise for a while. Come on, let's go see if everyone's done yet." He took Hermione's hand and led them out of the shop.

"Why not?" Astoria asked from over their shoulders.

"His family isn't reputable," Nott said.

"His mother's family is fine," Draco said, "I guess. But she's a bit of a treasure hunter."

"She's, like, an archaeologist?" Hermione asked. Somehow that didn't seem to fit.

"She's a tomb raider," said Nott.

"Like…" _Indiana Jones_ , she wanted to say.

"She's had, like, seven marriages," Draco said.

"They were mostly wealthy and old," said Nott, "and they all died rather quickly after."

"I see," said Hermione.

"But why do you not like _him_?" Astoria asked.

"He's a prat," said Draco. "Thinks he's more cultured than us, or something bullocks."

"Jealous, more like," Nott sniffed. "Wishes he could come from a more respectable lineage. His father was some Italian criminal. Liked to wrestle Muggles, they say. While he was living."

"But he and Millicent get along fine?" asked Hermione. "And Millicent gets on with Pansy and Tracey and Daphne alright."

"Bulstrode comes from a family with some qualities," Draco said.

"A shame they do what they do," Nott coughed.

"I thought she was a pureblood," said Hermione.

"She is," replied Draco.

They had reached the busy Diagon Alley and weaved their way back towards the Leaky Cauldron. Narcissa was waiting for them with Daphne outside Malkin's.

* * *

 **When I said I was just polishing the story, I actually meant I had to write 50k words last month to finish this bastard off. And, well, I wrote 30k words in a week and a half and burned myself out. So it's not completely finished, but I know exactly how things happen, I just need to put it on the page. First 11 chapters are done so I'll start putting them up and finishing the later chapters as I go.**

 **As promised, some more confirmations, AU or otherwise.**

 **Background birth dates by school year:**

 **1950-51 : Rodolphus Lestrange; Avery; Wilkes**

 **1951-52 : Andromeda Black; Evan Rosier**

 **1953-54 : Bellatrix Black; Rabastan Lestrange**

 **1954-55 : Lucius Malfoy**

 **1956-57 : Narcsissa Black**

 **1959-60 : Severus Snape; Lily Evans; Marauders**

 **1960-61 : Regulus Black**

 **1961-62 : Barty Crouch Jr.**

 **(I.e., Rod is 1 year older than Andie, who is 2 years older than Bella, who is 1 year older than Lucius, who is 2 years older than Narcissa, who is 3 years older than Sev+Lily+etc., who are 1 year older than Reggie, who is 1 year older than Barty)**

 **Other Black birth/death dates can be assumed to be those stated on the HP wikia page until otherwise contradicted here**

 **Millicent Bulstrode is pureblood**

 **Since the Muggle PM knows about the MoM and wizards, I'm assuming the Queen is aware (also assuming the monarch is female)**

 **Mulciber ain't at Hogwarts c. Bella & Lucius**

 **Theodore Nott's mother died in 1990**

* * *

 **Also, I know I've pounded it in that this is not a romance (and it isn't), but it turns out there might be a fair bit of it in here. I am wary of calling it actual romance - more teen drama and confusion - but be warned. Don't expect it to last past this book, though.**


	3. Musings on Magic

**Chapter III**

 **Musings on Magic**

The Slytherins rejoined each other the following morning in a crowded King's Cross Station. The Three families passed together through the barrier to Platform 9 ¾. It was no less crowded on this side, but each of them felt more comfortable. It was crowded with _their_ people. They were bid farewell by the adults as steam billowed from the Hogwarts Express, signaling exodus was imminent. Draco did his best to ignore his mother as she hugged him, but Hermione returned Narcissa's embrace easily. Daphne watched on stoically as Nicolas Greengrass instructed his daughters to behave – a stern eye turned towards Astoria. The smaller Greengrass didn't pay much attention. Hermione could tell that her mind was already at Hogwarts. Theodore did not receive any parting words from his father, just a firm shove to follow the others onto the train.

The group found their usually compartment. It already held a few new first years but they were quickly evicted by the burly Crabbe and Goyle, who had arrived just in time to do the dirty work.

"So who's going to enter the tournament?" Draco asked as his gorillas stowed everyone's trunks above them.

"No doubt you fancy yourself?" Daphne sniffed.

Draco only smirked.

"What tournament?" Hermione asked, sitting next to him.

"Oh, I forgot you didn't know," said Draco. "We're hosting the Triwizard Tournament."

"What is that?"

"Only the most bloody exciting thing to hit Hogwarts in _years_ ," Tracey laughed from the doorway, tugging her trunk in. "Literally."

"Three wizards are selected from the three major schools in Europe to compete against each other," said Daphne. "The winner gets a nice stack of galleons and glory eternal."

"Or that's what they'll tell you," said Tracey, handing her trunk off to a disgruntled Crabbe. "You can only really count on the galleons. I personally don't know any previous winners."

"There hasn't been a tournament in two centuries," Nott murmured, hands tucked neatly in his pockets.

"Yes, but it's labeled _eternal_ ," said Tracey. "And if I can't name one winner, it's, at most, passing eminence."

"More glory than you'll ever earn, Davis," breathed Nott.

Tracey took the window seat next to Daphne and made a face at Theodore.

"It could be a witch," Astoria said on the other side of Daphne, a hopeful tone to her voice. "Are you entering, Hermione?"

"I don't know," Hermione said carefully. "I'm not entirely sure what it entails."

"It's usually three tasks," Draco said.

"But I'm sure you could sweep it," Astoria grinned.

Hermione laughed at the girl's confidence and settled her head on Draco's shoulder for the long journey. "We'll see. I'm not all-powerful."

"Close enough," said Astoria.

"Hogwarts has to have a champion," said Draco as he reached an arm around her shoulder. "Who else is it going to be? Potter?"

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

"Death toll?" Hermione whispered to Draco. "You didn't say anything about that to me."

Draco shrugged. "I'm sure Dumbledore wouldn't abide any heinously dangerous tasks."

"The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Tri-Wizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleon personal prize money."

Hermione snapped her attention to Daphne. "A _nice stack_?"

Daphne's lip curled. "Indeed."

A thousand galleons might be pennies to the rich purebloods Hermione was surrounded by, but to Hermione it was a small fortune. A beginning. Somewhere to start from, to start separating herself from her parents. She couldn't rely on them for everything. Not everything magical, at least. They had already made their opinions clear on that subject.

"The heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age – that is to say, seventeen years or older – will be allowed to forward their names for consideration. This is a measure we feel necessary, given that tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion."

Hermione could almost see Astoria deflate. Others were more vocal with their disappointment. From across the hall she could hear the Weasley twins shouting. The students were dismissed and began their slow shuffle out of the hall. Hermione had made it ten yards past the doors when the black-robed Professor Snape swooped in front of her. He fixed Hermione with a glare and sent Draco and the others on with a jerk of his head. "The Headmaster requests your presence," he said, voice silky smooth. Snape took off in the opposite direction, towards the main staircase, pushing through the tide of students with ease. Hermione had to hurry to keep in his wake. Snape took her up several flights before setting off towards the familiar hallway where Dumbledore's office lay.

Snape opened the door and sent Hermione up the stairs by herself.

Dumbledore's office hadn't changed much from her second year. The last gleams of sunlight were shining through the window on the far side of the room, beyond the headmaster's desk. A pale golden glow fell upon the cluttered office. Little baubles and instruments, some whizzing softly and others sitting as still as stone, were piled on various tables and stools around the room.

A small caw from above made Hermione look up. Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, had perched himself on a stone outcropping and studied Hermione with one large eye. She didn't really know what to call him. Dumbledore's pet sounded… well, Fawkes was not a pet. She was sure of it. He was intelligent – probably more intelligent than most of the students bumbling off to bed below. He could very well be sentient. Which made him more like Dumbledore's friend, though that sounded weird. But it also made sense. Dumbledore was the type of person to have a bird as a friend.

Fawkes spread his massive wings and soared down, landing on a nearby table. He did an odd hop from foot to foot as he folded his wings into his sides. He made a chirping sound. Almost like a friendly "hello".

Hermione took a step nearer. "Hello, Fawkes," she said. "It's been a while."

The firebird blinked his eyes at her.

"I don't remember if I ever thanked you. For what you did in the chamber."

Fawkes wiggled a bit. Like a shrug.

"So… thank you." Hermione shook her head. Talking to a bird. Even a magical one…

He stuck out his neck, extending his head towards her. Fawkes cawed softly. When Hermione didn't respond, he tilted his head down and pushed forward again. Hermione lifted her hand hesitantly. Slowly, she began to stroke the top of the phoenix's head. She couldn't recall any time she had touch a bird. It wasn't like petting Crookshanks. He was soft and fluffy. Fawkes' head was bony, angular, and his feathers felt oily, though nothing stuck to her hands.

"I believe he likes you," Dumbledore said from behind her. He had entered silently. "Or perhaps he means to make me jealous," he laughed as he walked across the room. "I must admit that I haven't paid him as much attention as he likes. I've been particularly busy."

"The tournament," said Hermione.

He nodded and sat behind his desk. Hermione followed him and took the seat across from him. "Coordinating with two other schools and the ministry doesn't do any favors for my leisure activities. But we aren't here for leisure." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at her over his half-moon spectacles. "We're here to make the greatest witch of her century." The corners of his lips twitched.

"I may have… slipped into hyperbole," Hermione smiled meekly. "I think I was drugged at the time."

"On the contrary," Dumbledore's smile broke out. "I believe we have ample opportunity to do just that. Do you have any particular lessons in mind?"

"I…" She hadn't really thought about the details all that much. Sure, Hermione had been excited to work one-on-one with Dumbledore. Who else could boast of that? But she had no idea what the lesson plan to becoming the greatest witch in the world would be. "I'm not sure, sir… In my own studies I've mostly been learning more advanced spells."

"Indeed. Professor Snape has queried me on your aptitude for a certain curse. He told me that you had divulged the details to me." Hermione's mouth hung open while she searched for an answer, but Dumbledore continued. "Was I right in assuming that Tom was responsible for that?"

Hermione nodded after a moment.

"And your dabbling in the Unforgivables?"

She went stiff, unsure of how to answer. She did not _want_ to lie to Dumbledore, least of all when she was on the brink of such a rewarding apprenticeship. But Mr. Malfoy could get in trouble for his lesson. A life's sentence in Azkaban worth of trouble. "Yes, sir," she said through a dry mouth. "Tom told me." Hermione decide to go the half-truth way. Tom had mentioned the Cruciatus curse. Not the one Dumbledore meant, but technically a correct answer to his question.

"Very well," said Dumbledore, his eyes lingering on her – suspicious, perhaps, but he seemed to accept her answer. "So you wish to learn spells?"

"Yes, sir."

"Professor Lupin said you were making progress on the Patronus Charm last year."

Hermione nodded. "I had some success, I guess."

"A notable achievement. One to add to your already growing cabinet. Many grown wizards never take the time to perfect that spell. Perhaps a more in depth study of the Patronus Charm is on the cards?"

"Sir, I am interested in, uh, more practical spells," Hermione said uncertainly.

"More practical?" His bushy eyebrows bobbed. "I am quite fond of that charm. Very underrated. However, I understand. As of now, I believe your mere exposure to the spell is well enough. What kinds of spells do you mean?"

Hermione fidgeted in her seat. "I… is it true that you dueled Grindewald?"

A grave look passed over his face, but it was gone quickly. "More than once."

"What kind of spells did you use then?" Hermione sat up a little straighter. "I don't believe that you defeated a powerful dark wizard with simple hexes and jinxes."

"No, I did not," said Dumbledore. He sat quietly for a moment. His eyes were on Hermione but they were unfocused. He wasn't looking at her. "I don't believe it would be appropriate," he said at last.

"Appropriate?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I was many times your age when we met for the last time. You are not ready for such feats. No, we should begin with a foundation."

"Oh," said Hermione, shoulders slumped. What an experience that would be, learning to duel like Dumbledore. Perhaps in the future? "So what are the foundations?"

He gave a little smile. "My experience here at Hogwarts has made me understand that education has many building blocks. It is my job to select the best stones to put in place. You may have noticed that not all classes require the proper wand movement and incantation."

Hermione nodded slowly. Practical magic made up a very small part of a Hogwarts education. Homework essays and readings made up the bulk of the course load, not to mention the classes that _had_ no practical wand use – Potions, Herbology, History, Arithmancy. Ancient Runes was also mostly theory, though they delved into application at times. If Dumbledore was implying a heavy burden of research and study, Hermione was ready. She'd been practicing for that all of her life. "I can do the groundwork, sir."

"Tell me," said Dumbledore, "How do I light that torch, using magic?" He pointed a long, slender finger at a dark torch hanging in its bracket over her left shoulder.

It came almost immediately to Hermione. " _Incendio_ , Professor."

"Very good. How else?"

"Uh, you could probably get it to catch fire with _Confringo_ , but you'd risk blowing up the office," she said hesitantly.

"Very good," he nodded. "How else?"

"Blue-bell flames? Can they light other things?"

"Blue-bell fire does not burn fuel. You could put the flames there and have a fire on the torch, but it would not _light_ that torch. How else?"

Hermione was at a loss now. "I don't remember learning any other spells to make fire."

"Oh?" chuckled Dumbledore. "Your antics had me believing that you are a clever girl, Miss Granger. You can't find another way?"

"I…" She felt her face heat. " _Incendio_ just seems so foolproof that it's the only spell I know."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, "but realize that when I say foundation, I do not mean simply reading spell books, Miss Granger. I mean…" he suddenly had his wand in hand. Hermione involuntarily flinched backward. Dumbledore held up a hand to calm her. With the other, he lifted his wand in an arc. From the lit torch hanging on the side wall to her right, flames began sprouting. Like vines, they twisted together as the grew. Shooting overhead like a rainbow and revolving like a tornado, the flames landed on the torch on the other wall, igniting it before dissipating into the air. "That sometimes we impose rules upon magic where none actually exist." Dumbledore's eyes were truly sparkling now. "I asked how to light that torch, not create fire. Indeed, you did not need to _create_ fire at all. Magic offers so many ways to accomplish our goals. Books usually only teach the most direct way. Perhaps, growing up in the Muggle world, you can understand. To wizards, magic is a tool. Too many times we can forget that magic is… magical. The charms and transfigurations we teach students only scratch the surface.

"So much of the magical world exists outside the confines of the wizard-wand relationship, and many do not realize it. The wand does not create the magic. It bends it to our will. Magic is everywhere. _We_ are magic, Hermione. You are. I am. And knowing that expands our horizons drastically."

"So…" said Hermione. "We can do magic without wands?"

Dumbledore sighed. "It is certainly possible. Children undoubtedly perform accidental magic without the use of wands. But I am not speaking of that. No, I mean that the scope of magical potential is much greater than most can fathom. For instance, can you transfigure your house?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "My house is much too big to transfigure. And it's full of other things. Professor McGonagall says that the difficulty increases exponentially with size and complexity."

"But I can transfigure my desk. It holds many things," he said cheerfully.

"My house is still… my house. It twenty times as large as your desk. More, even."

Dumbledore smiled. "I once asked Minerva to transform Hogwarts Castle into a rubber duck for my birthday – so I could take a bath in the lake with a see, the squid isn't pleasant company anymore. She's a bit... anti-social nowadays. Anyway, Minerva found that request preposterous – the magic wasn't possible. 'No one can transfigure a _castle_ , Albus', she said. But the castle transforms itself. Rooms disappear. New closets grow from nothing. There is so much magic within the castle that it changes itself. So why not the whole castle, at the same time?"

"Because…" Hermione said, "It is still too big?"

He inclined his head. "Yes. I suppose Minerva would be correct in that no one person could accomplish it. However, she was fundamentally opposed to the possibility that Hogwarts could be transfigured, not that _she_ simply wasn't capable of the task. With enough magic, why _couldn't_ Hogwarts be transfigured?" He waited for Hermione to give an answer but she didn't have one. "I can transfigure a goose the same as a feather. I have seen no evidence that, if I had the raw power, I could _not_ transfigure Hogwarts.

"Now, that is relatively easy to grasp, but we can apply it to many things. Tell me what you know about ghosts."

Hermione blinked. "Uh… not much, Professor. I've never really looked into them."

"Oh?" he chuckled. "Why not?"

She pulled an apologetic face. "They kind of creep me out."

"And why is that?"

"They're dead… but they're here," she said.

Dumbledore nodded and closed his eyes. "They seem to be a paradox, at first glance. However, remember that _we_ are magic, Hermione. Ghosts are, indeed, dead. However, they have chosen to leave a magical imprint upon our world. A portion of themselves are left to wander. Perhaps they are content to stay, as Professor Binns appears to be. Perhaps they only fear what is beyond. Perhaps they had one last task they wished to see completed. In any case, they leave ghosts behind when they die. A semi-conscious being with their memories, their motivations, their knowledge and emotions. All these things persevere through death. Through the destruction of their body. What might this mean?"

Hermione bit her lip. "That… consciousness is separate from our bodies? But that doesn't make sense. We are only sentient because of our brains have the power to comprehend the self."

"That is how we come to be when we are born, yes. We could not be capable of nurturing these advanced thoughts without physical bodies. Unicorns are perhaps more magical than us, but they do not use wands. They do not have civilization. Their bodies are not built to sustain sentience. However, ghosts bring up the possibility that there is some… mechanism to separate a mind from the body. A part of us that is not fundamentally bound to our bodies. Something… that can be left behind… or taken away."

A wave of cold passed over Hermione's heart. "Like… like the dementors? Their kiss strips someone of their soul?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Yet another piece of evidence. A dementor's kiss does not kill the body, but does not leave behind the mind."

"So you're talking about the soul?" asked Hermione.

"It very well may be the soul. But I cannot answer definitively until, well," he gave a wry smile, "Until I die. At which time the line of questioning become moot, at least for my own curiosity."

"Unless you become a ghost," Hermione pointed out.

Dumbledore chuckled. "If everything goes to plan, Miss Granger, that will not happen. When I pass, I do sincerely hope for it to be peaceful, in my sleep, a bottle of good wine in my stomach, with everything sorted so I feel no need to leave a bit of me behind in this world.

"But you see how, once we look closely at what other consider mundane, there are a vast array of possibilities out there? Learning magic out of a book is all well and good for the vast majority of wizards who step through this school – and nearly all of wizarding Britain do step through these halls. _Discovering_ ways to use magic for yourself, now _that_ is what makes a great wizard."

Hermione gazed out the window. The sun had set now. There was no moon tonight so the only light came from the two torches burning over her shoulders. The flickering cast strange shadows over Dumbledore's wrinkled face.

"A daunting task, no doubt. But it will come to you with experience. Time and experience. For now, I only wish for you to keep that burning at the back of your mind. Perhaps after your O.W.L.s we will begin a more structured course in critical application of magic."

"After my – but that's… in two years?" Had he really thought up a two-year, even a three-year curriculum for her over the summer?

"You do plan on staying at Hogwarts the full seven years?" His voice had a hint of amusement to it.

"Of course, sir," said Hermione. "I just… didn't realize you…" Seventh year?

"Were committed to a long term project?" Dumbledore twiddled his fingers together and smiled as he took the words out of her mouth. "My dear, I would not have accepted your request if I did not believe you were worth sticking with until the end."

"I – Thank you, sir," she said.

He nodded. "We must begin somewhere. I believe it prudent to begin with a study of the past. A warning of sorts. As I have said before, magic is neither good nor evil. It is how you use it."

"Like, a history lesson?"

"Nothing so academic," said Dumbledore. "Let me ask you one last line of questions. Do you remember who you rode the Express with?"

"Oh… Well, Draco was there," she said, thinking back. "We met Daphne and Astoria on the platform. Theodore Nott was there, too. Tracey met us on the train. Crabbe and Goyle, too, I guess."

"Very good. Now, your compatriots in the carriages up to the castle?"

"It was Draco, Daphne and Nott."

"And do you remember what you talked about?"

Hermione focused on one brick of stone behind Dumbledore's left shoulder as she concentrated. "Draco and Daphne told me about the World Cup. Theodore didn't say much."

"And the others from your compartment? Who did they ride with?"

"Uh…" Now things were a bit fuzzy. "I heard Daphne tell Astoria to ride with Tracey. I might have seen them get in a carriage with Millicent. Maybe Zabini, too. Why are you asking me about this?"

"Misters Crabbe and Goyle?" Dumbledore went on.

"I don't remember," she said. "I don't pay attention to them."

"And what about the feast? The same group, I assume?"

Hermione nodded.

"Could you recount your seating arrangement?"

"Probably," Hermione shrugged. "Do I need to?"

"It is not strictly necessary," he inclined his head. "Can you tell me who was sorted into your house?"

"I didn't take notes, if that's what you mean." He tilted his head as if to tell her to take a guess. "There was a boy. Graham, I think. Maybe another – Pritchard?"

"Those names belong to the same person. Can I assume that you cannot recount the whole sorting, in order, and with each house?"

Hermione's mouth hung open for a second. "No, I can't, sir."

"Of course not," said Dumbledore, not unkindly. "But were it critical, could you find a way to learn the exact answers?"

"I don't know, sir. I might be able to find Professor McGonagall's sheet."

"But that wouldn't have the houses each student was sorted into," he said.

"I guess not."

He nodded slowly. "There is a way for you to relieve your memories, exactly as you perceived them. And other people's memories. We can take out a copy of our memories in magical form to be viewed at our leisure. I find the process quite relaxing."

"You can… take memories out of your head?" she asked.

He nodded again. "It can be dangerous if you do not know what you are doing, therefore I will not be asking for your memories. I do, however, have a selection already picked out. I believe they will be quite engaging and educational. I recently came upon a familial event I had not previously known of, and which was very enlightening. I hope you find it as thought-provoking as I did."

"Okay," said Hermione. "How do we… view them?"

"Ah," he smiled. "I will let you explain that to me the next time we meet. It is getting late and I do believe you should get some rest before classes begin." Dumbledore pushed himself out of his chair.

Hermione nodded and stood as well. "But sir… how would I know how? I've never heard of this before."

"I will give you one word. 'Pensieve'."

"Pensieve?"

"Yes. I believe that you still have you pass to the restricted section?"

Hermione smiled. It was tucked away safely in her trunk. "Yes, sir."

"Oh, and the password is _carpe vinum_. It is my prerogative to set passwords to house dormitories. Perhaps not quite appropriate, but I quite like the sentiment."

Hogwarts at night had a distinctly creepy feel about it. Not only was it dark and deserted, but the portraits that lined the walls emitted an odd chorus of snores. Halfway back to the dungeons she had decided that most of the snores were faked and the paintings were really watching her when she wasn't looking.

* * *

 **Dumbledore always seems to ramble on when I write him. I guess that's okay for the character, though.**


	4. Spirit Quest

**Chapter IV**

 **Spirit Quest**

"You're behind – very behind – on dealing with curses," said Professor Moody. His good eye was glaring at them with such ferocity that the rest of his scarred face didn't seem as bad. "I'm here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I've only got one year to pull it off, so we better get started, eh?" His grin was more like a grizzled lion showing his teeth. "Now, how many of you can cast a curse?" Timidly, students began raising their hands. They were caught between the desire to do as Moody asked and the fear of retribution from the notorious dark wizard catcher. After a few moments, most of the class put their hands up. "Some of you are lying," said Moody in a creepy, sing-song voice. "How many of you are familiar with the spell incanted, ' _p_ _etrificus totalus_ ', hmm?" Now the entire class had their hands up. "Its proper name is the Body-Bind _Curse_. Curse, yes. All of you know it. All of you can cast a curse. First years are taught curses. They come in all shapes and sizes. Now, the Ministry of Magic says I'm only to teach you countercurses. I'm not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like. Not until sixth year. But how are you going to defend yourself against that which you know nothing of?"

Moody stalked forward into the sea of desks, clunking with each step. "If I were to start cursing you, what could you do to me?" He leaned over Crabbe and Goyle's desk. "Think you could get those meaty hands to your wands in time, hmm?" He swiveled around and leered at Zabini. "And if you did, what do you think you could do? I know curses that could boil your bones in an instant." Moody licked his lips intently and hobbled over to the desk Draco and Hermione shared. "You, Malfoy. Your father is… a _renowned_ wizard. Surely he has taught his son something of his ways? Say I took a shot at the great son of Malfoy?"

"I'd stop you," said Hermione.

Moody's magical eye rotated to look at her, but his natural one stayed on Draco. "Hide behind the girlie, hmm? That's what a Malfoy would do, hmm?" Now he turned towards Hermione. "Tell me, girlie, how would you stop me?"

"I'd break your nose," she said.

He rasped out a grating laugh. "Already been broken, girlie. Try again."

"Cut off your legs," she gritted her teeth.

"Again, done before," he grinned his lopsided grin. "Tell me more."

"Does it matter? I'd stop you."

"Girlie is confident. But confidence can lead to overconfidence. What you need is CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Moody screamed the last two words, making everyone jump in their seats.

"I'm not overconfident," said Hermione. "I've done it before. You know that, Professor."

"Do I, hmm?" said Moody. "Tell me, girlie, do you know which curses are most heavily punished by law?"

"The Unforgivables," she answered.

Moody nodded and turned away to slump back to his desk. "Name one."

Hermione chose the most commonly noted curse from the history books. Incidentally the one with which she had the most experience using. "The Imperius Curse."

"Learn that one from Malfoy?"

Her heart skipped a beat. How could he know?

"Of course, we all _know_ how Malfoy Senior got off scot-free after the war," grumbled Moody. Draco turned a shade of pink. "Claimed he was under the sway of the Imperius Curse. He knew it couldn't be proven, see. Couldn't be disproven, either." He selected a glass jar from his desk and opened it with a pop. Sticking his hand inside, he came out with a small spider. He pointed his wand at it and murmured, " _Imperio_."

The spider leapt from his hand and scurried across the floor. Chair legs ground against the stone floor as students flinched away from it. The spider climbed on desk and began jumping from desk to desk.

"Total control," said Moody. "I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats…

"Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse. Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will." Moody made the spider leap onto Hermione's desk and bounce in front of Draco. "The next Unforgivable Curse? Hmm, girlie?" Hermione looked up to see he was staring at her.

"There's the Cruciatus Curse," she said.

" _Engorgio!_ " Moody said, and the spider grew to the size of a tarantula. Draco and Hermione scooted away from their desk. " _Crucio!_ "

The spider suddenly balled up, twitching violently. It rolled from side to side in a horrible dance of pain. Hermione watched on, hypnotized by the sight. Moody lifted the curse after a few moments. "You don't need fists and knives to cause pain. Not if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse.

"And the last?"

Hermione was transfixed by the spider, now moving its legs slowly, trying to move itself but only treading air.

"The Killing Curse," Draco said beside her.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ " bellowed Moody.

Hermione felt a tingle go down her spine at the words.

The room was filled with a blinding green light. The air rippled like something had exploded, and then Hermione's vision returned.

The spider's legs no longer swayed. It was dead.

"Not very pleasant. No countercurse, see. It can't be blocked. How does one survive it?" He waited for an answer that would never come. "Don't get hit is the optimal option. Else you can march up to Gryffindor Tower and ask Potter how he did it."

Draco took his textbook and set it on its side deliberately, then swept the desk clear of the corpse.

"Those three spells are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. Can anyone tell me why?"

Pansy raised her hand. "Because they are unforgivable."

Moody barked out a laugh. "That goes without saying. But _why_?"

"They cannot be undone?" Milicent asked.

"In a way," said Moody. "Dead is dead, but pain fades away."

"Professor," Hermione said, "Why are they illegal?"

"I'm the one asking that question, girlie."

"No, sir, you're asking us for reasons people are put in prison for murder. I want to know why they are illegal to use."

Moody narrowed his natural eye. "Why they are illegal? Did you not pay attention just a minute ago?"

"Sir, I know that murder is illegal. But there are legal killings, Professor. The Killing Curse is instant death. Is that not humane?"

"I do not follow."

"If there was a criminal who was fighting to the death, would it not be more unforgivable to curse off his arm or leg and let him bleed out? There are many spells that you can use to kill. Why is the only one that is _made_ to kill quickly and without pain unforgivable?

"And for that matter, can't the Imperius Curse be used to keep prisoners from escaping? To move them without worry?"

"Next you'll be telling me that the Cruciatus Curse should be used as corporal punishment for naughty students," Moody growled.

"Of course not," said Hermione, prickly. "But aren't there crimes so terrible that, sometimes, you want to cause those who commit them grievous pain? If they hurt someone else so badly, isn't it kind of justice?"

"We've got a real vigilante here," Moody laughed.

"I'm just saying that labeling these curses as 'unforgivable' is a bit black and white. There are much more heinous crimes than killing someone painlessly."

"Oh, but it isn't about the pain," grinned Moody. "For death or for torture. No, you are right. There are other ways to kill. Other ways to maim. But, tell me this, girlie: how does the Killing Curse kill? How does the torture curse torture, hmm?"

"Does it stop the heart?" she guessed. "Over-stimulate the nerves?"

A low rumble came from Moody's chest. "This is magic, Granger. You are thinking too much like a Muggle."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

Madam Pince did not want to let Hermione into the restricted section but Professor McGonagall's note did not specify an expiration date. And when Hermione told her that she was under orders from Dumbledore, the vulture backed off. Hermione had asked for the pass on a whim, some little bit of revenge for having to put up with a group of younger students asking her questions once a week, but she was beginning to really appreciate her subconscious genius. Leading the tutoring section was peanuts compared to the wealth of knowledge fenced off from the rest of the library, to which she now had _un_ restricted access.

It didn't take her long to find the meaning of 'pensieve'. It was a specialized device that could store and, for lack of a better word, replay memories. From there, it was easy enough to find a book on the thing, and perhaps simpler even to understand how it worked. Once memories were extracted (Hermione was a bit uncomfortable with that choice of word), they could be kept in the Pensieve, a bowl carved with special runes and imbued with powerful magic, or stored in jars or vials. Memories took the form of something between silver mist and a liquid. If they were deposited into the Pensieve, one could watch them on the surface of the contents, in a misty, three-dimensional representation brought about at the prodding of a wand, or in complete immersion by touching the memories. It did not go into much detail about what "complete immersion" meant.

Hermione could find no mention of a special spell used in the process. It seemed an entirely mechanically operation, leaving the magic to the Pensieve. That suited her just fine.

But that left her with an hour until dinner with no homework left to do.

Her mind drifted swiftly onto the Tri-Wizard Tournament. She made her way to the history section and began browsing. It took her a while to find anything substantial. Most of the more modern academic texts wrote the tournament off as some sort of uncivilized brawl of wizards and monsters. The somewhat… more lighthearted renditions of the tournament painted it as a spectacle on the same level as the World Cup. Great fun and greater glory. The further back she went, though, the harder it was to recognize when it was actually the tournament being written about, and not some sort of arena match or village tradition. There was nothing called the "Tri-wizard Tournament" before the thirteenth century. There were tournaments, obviously, but it was difficult to really nail down the timeline. What was interesting was that it tracked fairly well with the progression of the medieval "tournament". The modern interpretation of a tourney, the jousting tilt, was not central to early tournaments. The main event prior to the High Middle Ages was the melee, which equated to a brawl of knights who had nothing better to do than bash each other to pulp. The Tri-Wizard Tournament seemed to gain in popularity around the same time. But records of the precursor event to the Tournament were much harder to find.

She finally stumbled across a footnote in one book that labeled something called 'Merlin's Path' as the predecessor to the Tri-Wizard Tournament. From there she had a starting point and quickly found a text entitled _On the Traditions of the Isles._ Two names were etched into the cover. One simply read _Mermot_. The other was _Pate of Bath._ Each page was comprised by two different fonts of writing. The first was large and clearly printed, but between these lines were much smaller scrawls, though they, too, were fairly easy to read. It acted somewhat like a dialogue, or more probably, a narrative with running commentary. It was possibly some sort of transcription with the writer giving his opinion, as the little scribbles at times derided the larger words for ignorance or conjecture.

 ** _Merlin's Path_**

 ** _The winter solstice is a sacred time for wizarding folk, and no celebrations display our veneration for this time of year than the holiday of Yule and the revel of Merlin's Path._** _(Of course, this is just a cheap segue for Mermot. The Path did not occur solely on the solstice, nor did it in fact have any overt connection to it other than the time of year each fell in)_ _ **Merlin's Path, the annual exhibition of wizarding talent and dedication to magic, is perhaps the most important event of the year in some parts of Britain. It would be too simple to say it is a celebration of Merlin himself. Originally devised as a spiritual journey by the great wizard himself, the Path has since been diluted by centuries of Saxon, Norman, and, most importantly, Christian invasions – for Merlin lived in the age of the Briton. The wizards of the Isles were revered by the common people for their power, wisdom and guile. Even when the Romans came onto our shores, the wizard had his place in the world, as did his faith. Much has been lost from that time.**_ _(Mermot fancies himself of direct lineage to Merlin and the wizards of classical antiquity. 'Mermot' itself is most probably a pseudonym, with his given name lost to history)_

 _ **Though Merlin's Path has not seen more than ten entrants in living memory, or even seven, the Path is originally thought to have included no less than twelve champions. These champions would gather together and dip a goblet into a basin of flame, of sin and evil, to be drunk and contemplated.**_ _(Here, Mermot betrays his 'Celtic act' by subjecting his description to Christian language of 'sin and evil'. His assertion of drinking flames is most probably hyperbole or metaphor)_ _ **From this goblet, all twelve would be bound to their mission lest they fall prey to the evil thus ingested. Merlin would lead them on a journey of self-reflection, discovery and spiritual awakening none have experienced in centuries.**_

 ** _The current evolution of Merlin's Path has been bastardized, but it has its purpose. The knights of the common people hold their tourneys, bash their heads together as a show of strength and courage. Our brave wizards have taken to doing the same. Merlin's Path has become a way to express our wizarding culture and celebrate our ancestors, though Merlin's original meaning to the event has been lost by most of us._** _(Here I hold little opposition. There is no doubt that the original form of the Path was vastly different from the Path of Mermot's day and more so now. That is not to say, however, that Mermot has been completely honest with us. You may have noticed that I have refrained from calling it 'Merlin's' Path. That is intentional. Mermot has clearly placed himself as a descendant of Merlin, so an unbiased approach to history regarding Merlin should not be expected. While I do believe Merlin took part in the Path, and quite possibly led proceedings for some time, there is no evidence that he began the practice. Merlin's Path it may be called, but there is reason to believe that the event predates him by centuries._

 _Merlin himself lived in the sixth century. Half a millennia before he was born, the Roman scribe Gracchus journeyed throughout the Isles and spoke to the Britons, recording his findings. One entry from what is now the area of Wales states, "Having followed this expedition of twelve men to the sea, they disappeared from sight into the rocks and I was not allowed entry into their sacred domain". Another instance was found in the highlands of Scotland. "Upon that hill I see the beacon of bonfire, around which can gather no more and no less than twelve men, leaders of tribes and fierce warriors all. From that fire they will journey into the hinterlands, sometimes for a fortnight or more. The villagers tell me they will return changed". There are several other instances of gatherings of twelve men, enough that Gracchus acknowledges it. "Whether beyond the wall [of Hadrian] or not, these Britons hold the gathering of twelve as sacred... Journeys of the spirit are much more common in these isles than anywhere within Rome. One must question the health of the Roman soul when one meets a Briton")_

The manuscript went on for a good few more pages, but the emptiness in Hermione's stomach told her that it was time for dinner. She carefully replaced _Traditions of the Isles_ on the correct shelf and took off for the Great Hall.

She arrived slightly late, there was already food on the tables. Hermione found her way to the table where the Slytherin forth years had situated themselves and slipped in beside Draco. She had almost dropped a forkful of chicken onto her platter before noticing that there was a letter laying on it. _Hermione Granger_ was written on the envelope in immaculate cursive. She ripped open the envelope with a finger and pulled out the letter. She smelled a hint of lilac seep out.

The letter within only had one line of words.

 _I shall expect you in my office tomorrow evening, promptly at nine o'clock. – A.D._

"That was there when we got here," Draco said, putting an arm around her waist. "Who's it from?"

Hermione shrugged and stuffed the note into her robe pocket. "Nothing. Snape reminding me about my tutoring."


	5. The Subject

**Chapter V**

 **The Subject**

There was just so much more to explore about the tournament, or the 'Path'. For one, neither Mermot nor Pate mention how exactly the participants were chosen. So Hermione returned to the library the next day and began her search anew. She took out _Traditions of the Isles_ as a reference and went to work selecting her research materials from the history section.

She found full records of the Tournament as early as the fifteenth century, and partial copies dating back two further centuries. These listed the names and ancestries of each of the Champions, descriptions of the tasks they faced and outcomes of each.

"Hello, Hermione."

Dapnhe had appeared over her table and was looking down at the spread of dusty record books laid out before Hermione.

"Hi, Daphne," said Hermione.

"Doing research?" she smiled politely.

"Yeah. Did you know that Twi-Wizard Tournament was only the _Tri_ -Wizard Tournament from the latter half of the sixteenth century? Before that it was common for four or five wizards to compete. And even more as you go back further."

"I didn't. I thought it had always been the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

"No. And prior to…" Hermione leaned over for one of the books at the edge of her reach, "Fourteen-sixty, I think, the Champions were selected by a vote by the local elders. After that it says they were selected by 'the Goblet', or 'out of the Flames'."

"I've heard of the Goblet," Daphne said. "Mind if I join you?"

"Sure," Hermione murmured. "Just – try not to move things around. I have a system."

"Okay," said Daphne, sitting down next to her. Hermione watched her carefully place her books on a corner of the table that was clear. "Are you looking for anything in particular?"

"Nothing in particular, no."

"So…" Daphne picked at a nearby book. It was an incomplete anthology of tournaments around the turn of the twelfth century. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Reading, mostly."

"And you need _all_ of these books?"

"I want them near if I do."

"And… if you do, how do you know which has what you're looking for?"

"I have a system." Daphne glanced at her with an unconvinced look. "I do," Hermione reiterated.

"Okay," she said.

"Look, I've got _Traditions of the Isles_ there in the middle. That's where I started. And above that are select accounts of 'The Path', the first evolution of the tournament. And around on the left are passages that may be about The Path or related in some way. On the right over there are writings from around the tenth century which can connect The Path to the Tournament, however vague, and here in front of me are records I know are from the Tournament. I've got them in order from…" Hermione gazed at the books in front of her. They weren't in any order.

"Okay,"

"I really have a system," she repeated. "It makes sense to me."

"I'm not doubting you, Hermione," Daphne smiled. "I've never heard about the… Path? What was it?"

"Well, some people think that Merlin started it as some sort of… spirit journey to connect with our magic more completely. Merlin is commonly thought to have popularized it in Wales and England, but the Romans saw the Celts doings similar things well before his time."

"Really? That's incredible. You've figured this all out yourself?"

Hermione shrugged. "It's all in the books."

"So… what would they do to connect with their magic?"

"That's not well known. The only ones who really knew were the ones who participated, and none of them wrote about it, to my knowledge. There is one…"

Hermione stood and scanned her collection, finding a worn manual on the left side of the table. "I know the Muggle stories about Merlin – but I found this one by a wizard. I'm sure he wasn't a contemporary of Merlin, and I don't think he participated in the tournament, but he wrote stories about Merlin. This one has Arthur fighting the Celtic tribes of the north…" Hermione paged through until she found it. " _Merlin gathered King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. The eve of battle was upon them and none had the heart to believe they would survive to see the sun set once more. Merlin took the twelve knights west to Lake-upon-the-Sea. Across Merlin's body of water was a spring of pure liquid magic. Merlin bid the knights to drink from the well and view their lives as they have lived them. They were met with the bloody deeds that had brought them to this place and were sorrowful. Merlin pardoned them of their crimes and told them to drink from the lake and know that they were men of quality and integrity and their purpose was clear – Deus Vult._

"Then they slaughtered their pagan opponents in battle. What's interesting – to me – is that in the Muggle stories, King Arthur's knights were on a quest to find the Holy Grail, a cup with magical powers. It is first mentioned by Chretien de Troyes in the late eleven-hundreds. That's at least five hundred years after Merlin, so it's obviously an added Christian symbol, but what if it's a metaphor for something that wizards actually used? This well or spring was mentioned around ten-hundred. By a wizard. And twelve is the earliest number of participants in the Path that I could find. This story says _twelve_ knights. And Merlin is there to supervise."

"May I?" Daphne took the manual out of Hermione's hand and studied it.

"Another book says that a Roman scribe saw twelve Welshmen disappearing on the coast during one of the Path rituals. Merlin takes them west, to the sea."

Daphne nodded slowly. "You have Beedle, right? I've seen it on your nightstand."

"Yeah."

"You've read it?"

"I… Yeah, most of it, it's all children's stories. Nothing about the Path or Tournament."

"Have you read about the Fountain of Truth?"

"I think I remember. Merlin enchanted a fountain to allow the drinker…" Hermione trailed off.

" _Across Merlin's body of water was a spring of pure liquid magic_ ," Daphne recited, looking up at Hermione with bright eyes. " _…drink from the well and view their lives as they have lived them…_ "

"You think this… this spring is the Fountain of Truth?"

"I think the Fountain of Truth isn't real, Hermione. It's a children's story."

"But?"

"But I also like thinking that every story has a bit of truth to it. If even the Muggles have stories about something like it…"

Hermione nodded. The convergence of historical record and legendary stories really was fascinating. Were King Arthur and Merlin real people? Did they actually do all the things in the stories? Who were more right, the Muggles or the wizards?

"Hermione," Daphne said quietly, calling her out of her thoughts. "I wanted to talk to you about… It wasn't my choice to go to the World Cup with the Malfoys."

"Okay," said Hermione, a bit stiffer than intended.

"I just want you to know that I value our friendship."

Hermione nodded. "I do, too."

"I'm not interested in Draco at all, okay? I wouldn't even talk to him regularly if not for… family obligations. I don't want you to get angry with me."

"I'm… no, I'm not angry. It's just that… Not at all?"

"He's not really my type." Daphne shrugged, looking down at King Arthur manual. " _Ego non volo_."

"You don't need 'ego'," Hermione said automatically. "The subject is included in the verb."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

"You have to be seventeen to enter."

"There's nothing in the rules or traditions of the tournament that disallow an underage witch or wizard," said Hermione as the Slyhterins returned to the dormitory from dinner. "In fact, an underage wizard participated in the last Tournament."

Draco only shook his head. "But Dumbledore said it. Do you think things are going to follow the traditional rules or Dumbledore's rules?"

"Dumbledore isn't all-powerful, Draco," said Hermione. "He may be the most powerful wizard in the world, but that doesn't make him infallible or impossible to circumvent. There's nothing in the actual rules that prevents an underage person from putting their name in the Goblet of Fire. The Goblet makes the choice, not the judges."

"So Dumbledore will make the Goblet disqualify you," Tracey yawned, slumping down in plush armchair near the fire. Draco dropped onto a nearby couch, pulling Hermione down next to him.

"The Goblet is at least five hundred years old," she replied. "I don't think Dumbledore would tamper with it, even if he could."

"The old coot would interfere with anything he wants," said Theodore in a low voice, to no one in particular. "Not that it matters."

"What does that mean?" glowered Hermione through clenched jaws.

The boy shrugged his bony shoulders. Obviously his father hadn't beaten that out of him yet.

"If there is no way Dumbledore could stop it once our names are in the Goblet, why shouldn't we try? We're all Slytherins, aren't we? Shouldn't all of you want to prove yourselves? Win the tournament?"

"You don't really think you could win it?" Tracey asked, leaning over the arm of her chair.

"Why not?"

"You'd be going up against the best of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons," said Tracey. "Wizards of age who know boatloads more magic than you."

"I can handle myself," Hermione pouted.

"You're still assuming that you'd be selected," Nott said in one of those select times he chose to address Hermione directly.

"Why shouldn't I? I've faced greater dangers than some French teenager and a communist."

Tracey snorted. "Soviets are bred tough, Hermione. Not even Napoleon could break them down."

"I'm not going to be competing in a Russian winter."

But Tracey only rolled her eyes.

"I guess I'll just have to show you," sighed Hermione. "I've got something to do."

"Where are you going?" asked Draco as she stood.

"To read," she said as he tried to pull her back. "Boring reading." Hermione untangled their fingers and walked down the steps to the bedrooms. She took the familiar right turn and then entered he dormitory on the left.

She was greeted immediately by the irate voice of Pansy Parkinson. "– was bad enough, but _both_ –?" Her cheeks were flushed and she was quivering, staring up at the taller girl.

"There are plenty of others," Daphne said in an icy tone. "Just because you want something doesn't mean you get it."

"Unless my name is Greengrass, yeah? Maybe I'll just have to –" Daphne stepped quickly towards her, bringing them almost nose to nose. Pansy shut her mouth, perhaps startled, or perhaps it was that she had noticed Hermione close the door. The shorter girl, face looking rather like a disgruntled pug, grimaced at Hermione's entrance and spun on her heels, stomping off to her bed.

Daphne stared after Pansy for a second, took a quick look at Hermione, hesitated, then returned to her own desk.

Hermione stepped forward slowly, unsure of what she had just interrupted. It was completely within Pansy's character to start in on someone. Daphne, however, was never one to get aggressive. Hermione walked to her own bed, next to Dahpne's, and set her bag down. There was a telltale shuffle of rings on a metal rod as Pansy yanked the curtains closed around her bed.

"What was that about?" Hermione whispered after a moment.

Daphne had sat down at her desk, holding herself in her chair with perfect posture, and had returned to a half written essay. "It was nothing," she said quietly, eyes glued to the parchment.

She frowned. Daphne wasn't much of a gossip, but Hermione had hoped that she would let her in on this one. Hermione would gladly take her side in any argument against Pansy. But there was no time to dwell on it. She'd be late for Dumbledore's lesson.

Hermione hurried back out of the dormitory, the common room, and out of the dungeons. There was just a hint of sunlight left in the halls of the castle. Soon, weeks or days, the sun would be down before dinner, even. She climbed to Dumbledore's office, the gargoyle leaping aside for her, and ascended the spiral stairs behind the wall. The large wooden door at the top swung open at her knock.

The pink sky shone through the window behind Dumbledore's desk. The old wizard was sitting there tranquilly. Hermione took her time walking across the office. There were so many little trinkets and gadgets laying around that it could take a year to parse through them all. And years more to discover their true uses.

Dumbledore motioned for her to take the seat across from him.

"Welcome back, Miss Granger. I hope your dinner sat well with you?"

Hermione nodded.

"Very well. Shall we begin? What can you tell me about the pensieve?"

She related all that she had read of the peniseve to him. He nodded serenely. "Very good, Miss Granger. Thorough research. The pensieve does, indeed, operate without much guidance. It takes some experience to use properly if you store multiple memories inside it at once, though. I hold an extensive collection so I use many vials to keep my memories safe and ordered. It wouldn't do to forget a memory at the bottom of the pool, would it?" he chuckled.

"While on the subject of memory storage," he continued. "Did you come upon any other methods in your search?"

"No, sir."

"Have you come upon any methods in your time at Hogwarts?"

"No, sir…" she said again, before thinking. But she had. It must have slipped to the back of her mind before. But it was clear, now that she thought about it. "Actually, I have…"

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, you have."

"The… the diary," she said. "Tom's diary."

"The diary of sixteen-year-old Tom Marvolo Riddle," Dumbledore recited with his eyes closed. "An intriguing piece of magic. I'm not sure there has been anything like it before."

"I met him – Tom," said Hermione. "But it wasn't really him. He said… that he was a memory, stored in the diary for fifty years. Was the diary a pensieve? A form of one?"

"I don't believe so," said Dumbledore. "That diary was not used for the purpose for which it was sold – it was not meant to recount memories of Voldemort so… vividly. I sincerely doubt that he would like to relieve his school days. No, the memories inside the diary seemed to have been… aware. It had a drive. A goal. The diary was a tool. Storing memories, but not for the sake of remembering them. They were to be used, and I sincerely doubt, as well, that Voldemort intended to use them himself."

"What do you mean?"

"As I gathered from the participants two years ago, Miss Weasley was led astray – possessed, even – by the memories. She was used to open the Chamber of Secrets. Now, if Voldemort wanted to open the Chamber, he not need any memories to do it."

"So… he wanted someone else to open it?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Indeed."

"Can… can the memories in the pensieve…"

"No, no, dear me. This particular brand of invasive memories is quite possibly Voldemort's most impressive creation thus far, and I do not believe anything else exists on the level of the diary. But he created it as Tom Riddle, at age sixteen. Have you ever wondered _why_ he created it?"

Hermione couldn't say that she did. After the Chamber, she didn't really want to think about any of it.

"I suppose an explanation is in order, but I shan't delve too deep. Voldemort is not the central figure in our exploration. Not at this time. But he is the beginning. A history of Voldemort, then, and I shall try to be brief.

"Tom Riddle was born in an orphanage in London, nearly seventy years ago. His mother, a witch, died not long after he was born. He grew up in that orphanage. When he reached the age of eleven, Hogwarts sent a professor with his letter of acceptance to greet him, much like Minerva did for you. However, it was I who brought Tom his letter.

"What I found was a bitter boy. An angry boy. A powerful boy. He like to cause pain to those who he did not like. He stole. He bullied. But once he was at Hogwarts, he acted like a proper student and fooled most of the staff. While there, I eventually found out, he was obsessed with his parentage. He learned that his ability to speak Parseltongue was an indicator that he was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, the founder of his house." Dumbledore held up his hand before Hermione could interrupt. "That does not mean that Mister Potter is the Heir of Slytherin, either. It was the case for Tom Riddle, though. His bad experience at the orphanage, coupled with that fact that his Muggle father abandoned his mother, allowed for a moral dissonance in him, if he had any notion of right or wrong at all, and he figured out how to set the Basilisk on the school.

"The Basilisk killed Myrtle Warren and Hogwarts was to be shut down. Tom, however, did not have a place to go. Hogwarts was his home just as it was to many before him, and many after. So he framed someone else for it. This is where the diary comes into play. Following his opening of the Chamber, and subsequent closing, he created a sublime piece of magic out of his diary. This diary had all of his memories up to that point in his life. And it was meant to take control of anyone who wrote in it. Can you guess for what purpose?"

"To open the Chamber again?"

"Precisely."

"But, Professor, Tom – the memory of Tom – was trying to… come back. Can any memory just… come back?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No. That… was a later edition. Let me jump forward several decades. I had recently taken up the post of Headmaster and Tom Riddle had returned to Britain, this time as Lord Voldemort. He came to Hogwarts to request the posting of the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor."

"He did?"

"He did. I, of course, turned down his request. He left, but not before, I suspect, retrieving his diary. He had hidden it here since his departure and it had not taken root in some unfortunate student yet – and I dare say he was quite fond of that bit of magic and wanted to admire it some more. But we are not interested in that, for now. It only shows a change of direction for Voldemort. With his return to Britain he began a campaign for personal power under the banner of blood supremacy. His followers from his school days joined up, and their children, too. Soon there was a sickness in my Hogwarts. Students were being turned against each other. Against their own families. I saw many children turn down dark paths. Many turn to Voldemort's side.

"It was a failure of mine, to be sure. I had let Voldemort walk these halls for seven years - and I let his spirit walk them for many more, corrupting this institution. Surely, you know some of the names. Travers. The Lestrange brothers. Rockwood… Pettigrew.

"One particular family has been torn apart by Voldemort's machinations more than any other. You've met several of them, too. We shall be delving further into the life, and seduction to Voldemort's cause, of one Bellatrix Black."


	6. Devouring Flames

**Chapter VI**

 **Devouring Flames**

The arrival of the other schools happened to occur on a day that conflicted with the combined Gryffindor and Slytherin potions class. Teachers were required to release their students thirty minutes early to greet the guests. In honor of this, Snape had assigned an extra thirty inches to their weekly essay, one for each minute of abusing Longbottom he was cruelly deprived of.

But that did not dampen the spirits of any student as they hurried along to see the Beauxbaton and Durmstrang arrivals. Even Hermione was excited. She had seen Beauxbaton from a distance two summers prior, but she had not seen any students.

"I've heard that the Beauxbaton girls wear silk gowns as their uniform," Daphne said, almost looking as bubbly as Astoria for once.

"And the Durmtrang guys wear nothing but bear pelts," Tracey gawked with a grin.

"No, they probably just ride bears without shirts," Astoria popped up between them.

Tracey's eyes popped. "Even better!"

Hermione laughed. Everyone was making up more and more outlandish ways for the schools to arrive. Beauxbaton would come in on unicorns. Durmstrang would come by blimp. The French flew on magical French flags. Durmstrang would burrow into Hogwarts on some kind of underground train.

In the end, Beauxbaton came in a giant carriage and Durmstrang in a submergible ship, in which they somehow did not drown. The French marched up to the castle, cold Scottish breeze blowing over the lake, shivering in their light blue silken robes. Hermione could only say that they were very… French. They looked none too happy about being in the cold. Their snippy French chat could be easily translated by anybody as "this place sucks". And the girls… well, of course they were all of age, and most had no qualms showing it. One tall, blonde girl strode around like she owned the land under her feet, her robes clinging in all the right places and leaving the rest to the wild imagination of just about all the Hogwarts boys.

Hermione was quite proud when she saw that Draco wasn't slobbering over the passing French girl. No, he was eyeing the Beauxbaton headmistress with distress, and not without reason. She was taller than Hagrid by several feet.

"Is that a _giant_?" Pansy quivered nearby. "They let a _giant_ into Hogwarts?"

"Looks like she has more class than you," said Hermione.

"What does a mudblood know about class?" snarled Pansy.

Hermione felt the urge to smack her, but excited shouts went up and the crowd surged forward, blocking her view of Pansy. "That's Victor Krum!" Draco and Tracey shouted, almost at the same time. Victor Krum, the man who caught the snitch in the World Cup Final. When he finally came into view, Hermione was a bit let down. He just looked like a slouching, grumpy boy hobbling along after his headmaster. But everyone went wild for him. As the Hogwarts students filed back up to the castle behind them, even Daphne was craning her neck to look ahead.

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

"Let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts."

Hermione pondered the fairness of that set-up. Three British wizards, one French, one… _eastern_. She wasn't quite sure where Karkaroff was from. He could have been from Siberia for all she knew, but it would seem that Hogwarts was already off to a good start.

Filch strutted out from the shadows carrying a large, wooden and bejeweled chest.

"There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways…. Their magical prowess – their daring – their powers of deduction – and, of course, their ability to cope with danger. As you know, three champions compete in the tournament, one from each of the participating schools. They will be mared on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion wityh the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."

Dumbledore tapped on the chest. It opened and he produced an old, withered looking wooden cup. Except it as full of blue flames. Although she had finished supper, Hermione felt a deep hunger.

"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon the slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet. Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy of to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete.

"To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation, I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

Hermione got up even earlier than usual. Normally she tried to get up before anyone else to have free reign in the showers, but this morning she couldn't pretend to sleep for another hour. She had to wake up.

The castle was always drowsy in the morning. Those few who were out of their dormitories moved around on autopilot, barely noticing each other. The Great Hall was sparsely populated, and the entrance hall even less so. The Goblet of Fire rested on its box in the middle of the hall. It took Hermione several moments to tear her eyes away from the trophy and look at the silvery circle floating around the floor at the base of the box.

She moved to the edge of the line, making sure she neither touched nor crossed it, and peered at the goblet. It was only a few feet away. Too far to reach out and touch, but close enough. She reached into her bag and tore a piece of parchment out of her notebook and scribbled her name on it. Again careful to not cross the line with any part of her body, she crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it at the goblet.

The parchment ball soared out from her hand in a perfect arc towards the goblet. But at its apex, a silvery wisp darted out from Dumbledore's Age Line and reduced the parchment to soot.

Hermione looked at the ground and saw a thin layer of the black ash coating the ground. Perhaps it would take a bit more ingenuity to get past Dumbledore's line. She retreated to the shadows on the wall as a few more students made their way in for breakfast.

One older boy, a Slytherin seventh year she hadn't really bothered to know, made straight for the goblet. He crossed the line with no problems and dropped his paper into the blue flames.

What if she dropped it in from above? The age line didn't go up to the ceiling, did it?

Hermione watched a few more early comers put their names in, a pair from Beauxbaton and a solitary Durmstrang guy. She noticed a pattern. They all approached in the same way. And they held their paper the same, in their hand by their side, until they were in front of the goblet. Then they dropped it in the fire. Simple.

Maybe simple was best. Dumbledore might have been able to engineer a line that figures out how old someone is, and eliminates rogue papers, but could it tell if a paper was attached to someone? Would he have thought of all the mundane possibilities? Or did he believe the beards – as Hermione had heard – would dissuade intrepid students?

Hermione peered down the hall. No one in sight. She scribbled her name on another strip of paper and tore it out. She placed it on the ground and took out her wand. " _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," she whispered, lifting the paper off the ground. She levitated it out towards the goblet at about waist height, trying to imitate a walking pace. It floated across the line, over the ashy floor, and into the goblet. The simple brilliance of her ploy made her grin. When her name came out of the goblet...

"Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall said sharply.

Hermione blinked back into the present. The class had turned to look at her, and McGonagall was frowning severely.

"I see you haven't even attempted to transfigure your bird," said the professor. Hermione's brown bird hopped around her desk while the others existed in a state somewhere between bird and pig.

"I…" Hermione mumbled, stealing a look at the clock. Had she really daydreamed away the last half hour?

"I would expect such a thing from _this_ one," she jerked a finger at Draco sitting beside Hermione, "But not you. Five points from Slytherin."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

"Victor Krum!"

The Great Hall exploded into cheers, and not just from the Durmstrang section. Boy and girls from across Hogwarts shouted their support for the Bulgarian, whose scowl was slightly less severe as he walked, hunched shoulders, to Dumbledore and the other headmasters. They all shook his hand and he was led off to an exit behind the staff table.

Silence fell upon the hall again. Dumbledore returned to the goblet, and another crispy paper whooshed out of the flames. He snatched it out of the air and brought it up to his eyes.

"The champion of Beauxbaton is," announced Dumbledore, "Fleur Delacour!"

There were less cheers than for blonde witch than for Krum, but that was because half the school was too busy trying to get their jaws to shut.

Daphne clapped politely and leaned over to Hermione. "I think she'll win."

"Maybe she used her Veela charm to fool the goblet?" smirked Hermione, and Daphne giggled.

After Delacour was congratulated and ushered offstage, everyone quieted down. The real champion was next. Their champion. The _Hogwarts_ champion.

Hermione bit her lip and edged closer to the goblet. Her eyes fixed on the paper that floated down to Dumbledore's hand. The Headmaster brought it up to his eyes and Hermione noticed him smile slightly. Her heart jumped. What would make him smile? Did she actually do it?

Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly, milking the attention, and then boomed, "The Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory!"

Hermione exhaled deeply and slumped down on the bench. "Damnit," she said, but it was lost in the rapturous celebrations of the Hufflepuffs.

"A badger?" Draco cried, dismayed. "I thought you said to entered, Warrington?"

"Oh, fuck off, Malfoy," the meaty seventh year grumbled back at him.

Diggory had to stop every five feet to shake someone's hand on his way to Dumbledore, who almost hugged him. Professor Sprout was bouncing.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore said when the Hufflepuffs quieted down. "We have our three champions. Now, by cheering your champions on, you will contribute in a very real –"

The goblet puffed again. Something shot into the air. A parchment fluttered down.

Hermione pushed herself out of her seat – with what seemed like half the school. The insane thumping of her heart filled her ears so that she didn't hear the hushed words of those around her. She only stared at Dumbledore as he plucked the parchment out of the air. He stared at it for several long moments before looking up and scanning the room. His eyes met hers. She felt a jolt in her stomach.

And then they moved on.

"Harry Potter."

Every ounce of excitement left her body in an instant. Hermione suddenly became a shell of disappointment.

Dumbledore called his name again, and Potter stumbled out of his seat and began to walk forward. It was then that Hermione realized that she wasn't disappointed. No, she was angry. With each step Potter took, Hermione's fury increased.

How did _Potter_ get in? Which level of hell was she living in that Harry _Fucking_ Potter was chosen to enter the Tri-Wizard Tournament over Hermione Jane Granger? What were her sins to deserve this? How, in the name of Christ, did the goblet think that _Potter_ was a better choice than her?

Hermione was still half-standing, staring at the portal Potter disappeared through as the rest of the hall was shuffling out.

"Come on," Draco said, pulling on her arm.

"You go," she replied. "I've got more studying to do."

Draco shrugged and moved off with the rest of Slytherin.

Hermione stayed there for several more minutes, just staring at the goblet. The flames had gone out. When she was the last student left in the hall, a couple of men came in and began packing the goblet away.

She wondered if it was sentient. Whether it was like the Sorting Hat. Could she ask it why?

The men shut the box and carried it out of the hall. The torches dimmed all around, and Hermione remembered that Dumbledore had scheduled a lesson after dinner. She swore and hurried off towards his office.

The corridors were dark and empty. The portraits' eyes followed her. Couldn't they just screw off? She had half a mind to set the whole lot on fire and blame it on Peeves.

Hermione reached the gargoyle and waited. It usually leapt out of the way after a moment.

But it didn't.

She reached out, hesitantly, and knocked on the stone.

Nothing, except – maybe – that the gargoyle's eyes narrowed. But that might have been the darkness playing a trick on her.

It felt like everything was playing a trick on her. The goblet was, obviously. Potter, too. Of course he was. No way he would have entered if she hadn't. And Dumbledore. It seemed like Dumbledore was playing a trick on her as well because this damned gargoyle wouldn't _move_.

"Let me in," said Hermione. "I have an appointment. Dumbledore invited me." The gargoyle didn't budge.

"Come on," she said, taking out her wand and pointing it in the stone creature's face. "Don't make me."

Did it _wink_ at her?

Hermione growled. " _Alohabora_."

Nope.

" _Tarantellegra_."

Of course not. Dumbledore's office wouldn't be able to be unlocked by moving the damned thing out of the way. There was a stone wall behind it, anyway. Hermione gritted her teeth and turned away. She walked halfway down the hall. Nobody was there besides the gawking portraits.

"Lost, are you, lass?" a fat man with a red beard man called from his lounge-chair.

"No," said Hermione.

He shrugged and took a sip of his wine.

Hermione twisted around and stomped off the other direction.

"Keep it down!" an old lady cried. "Some of us have to sleep."

"You're a painting," said Hermione. "Shut up."

"Ohohoh!" the lady teetered. "A scrappy little girl, aren't you? Mighty tough, eh?"

Hermione brandished her wand at painting. "Shut it, or I'll make you sleep permanently."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

She heard the footsteps long before she saw the people. Hogwarts was very quiet after dark, and the echoes came from far off.

Four figures come around the corner, and Hermione picked herself off the floor. Professor McGonagall was speaking quickly to Dumbledore, Snape walked on the other side of him, and Professor Moody followed up behind, his walking staff clinking on the stone floors.

McGonagall and Dumbledore didn't even notice her as they passed, the gargoyle jumping out of their way as the wall parted. "Professor," Hermione started, but found herself staring down the length of Professor Moody's wand.

"What have we got here, eh, girlie?" Moody's magical eye whirled in its socket. "Out after hours?"

"Moody," Snape said smoothly, sliding in between them. "I will deal with my student."

The ex-auror grumbled, but put up his wand and followed Dumbledore and McGonagall.

"Put that away," Snape snapped at Hermione, who had subtly drawn her own wand. "What are you doing out of your dormitory?"

"Professor Dumbledore's lessons," Hermione responded. "He said to come up after dinner. Dinner was an hour ago."

Snape smirked. "You've been up here for an hour? Professor Dumbledore had more important things to attend to than your vanity project."

Hermione felt a twitch in her cheek. If _she_ had been chosen, Dumbledore wouldn't have forgotten. Or maybe he didn't forget. Maybe he knew full well he was leaving her hanging, and he decided that Potter was a better use of his time.

"I'll be going, then," she muttered, fists clenched.

Snape nodded. "I'd avoid Filch, if I were you. He'll be out for blood, now. Might blame you for Potter getting special treatment…"

Hermione stomped through the common room, not even registering if anyone was there. She jumped down the stairs and cut the corner so close she lost some threads from her robe.

"Have we decided who we support now?" Tracey was saying as Hermione burst into the room. "We've got two champions."

"You'd really support Potter?" Daphne asked, perched on the foot of her bed.

"He's good at Quidditch," shrugged Tracey.

"Krum," Pansy said without any doubt. "You'd both be stupid to support a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff."

Hermione bit her tongue and tore off her robe, throwing it with all her strength back into her trunk. They wouldn't be saying that if a _Slytherin_ had been chosen. They wouldn't be saying that if _Hermione_ had been chosen. _Well, Pansy might..._

"Krum isn't from Hogwarts," Millicent said.

"Doesn't matter to Greengrass," Pansy pulled a face. "She goes for the most eligible."

"What's that mean?" said Tracey.

"I think we have to go for Diggory," said Daphne. "He was chosen first, and he didn't break any rules.

"Oh, pretty boy Diggory now?" called Pansy. "Well, if you're going for looks… though I did see you swooning over Krum."

"I don't swoon," Daphne sniffed.

"You're probably going to go for them both," said Pansy. "Wouldn't put it past you."

"You've got a problem, Pansy," said Daphne. "A jealousy problem."

"I'm _not_ jealous," huffed Pansy, standing up, her face slightly pink. "I just don't like what you're doing."

"And what am I doing?"

"Stealing _everyone_. You and your _abominable_ sister."

"I can't steal what someone never had," Daphne shot back.

"Really? Want to know –"

"No, I don't. No one does. Get over yourself."

"Get over myself? You're the one who is so full of yourself you can't keep your hands off – "

"You have _no_ idea what is going on. Just get over yourself. You aren't as important as you think."

" _I_ am from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight!" screeched Pansy in an earsplitting, high-pitched voice.

"Shut up!" Hermione shouted at her, pulling her shoes off and rubbing her feet. Pansy ignored her.

"I am the heir of the House of Parkinson! I _deserve_ the best!"

Hermione felt pounding right beneath her forehead. She dug her fingers into her head but couldn't alleviate the pain.

"You deserve a dog, Pansy. A big, mangy, dirty dog. It would complete you," Daphne said coolly. "Because you're an annoying bitch."

A tremor ran through Pansy. She stepped closer to Daphne. Hermione watched her out of the corner of her eye. She could almost see a vein popping in Pansy's neck. "You're going to regret that."

"No, I'm not." Daphne crossed her arms.

Pansy lurched forward, diving towards Daphne, arms extended. Hermione had already reacted, reaching for the closest thing – her shoe – and hurling it at Pansy. It nailed her in the head. Pansy cried out in surprise. Daphne spun away and Pansy toppled headfirst onto Daphne's bed.

"You are a dog, Pansy," Hermione said through gritted teeth. Everything was making her head hurt. "A loud, obnoxious dog, who just needs to _shut_ _up_."

Pansy pushed herself off the bed and fixed her livid eyes on Hermione. "You're the dog, filthy whore. You're just a mudblood Draco keeps around to take for a ride whenever he wants."

Pansy didn't even have time to raise her wand. Hermione was up, burning with fury. After everything tonight, Pansy wanted to take her on? There were no mistakes this time. Hermione wasn't going to lose this. Potter may have gotten one over on her. Dumbledore might have forgotten her – forsaken her – but there was no way Hermione wasn't going to beat the bitching out of Pansy. All of her shit that had piled up for four years. All of the names. All of the insults. All of the smirks and sneers and laughter and disgusted little faces. She was going to pay.

" _Crucio!_ " screamed Hermione, holding her wand dead-steady at the girl.

Pansy hit the floor, shrieking. Hermione relished waves of euphoria that crashed across her body. All the crimes that had gone unpunished for so long were finally being set right. Justice was finally served. Pansy screamed again, writhing on the floor. Her face was twisted in agony, and Hermione already saw tears streaming form her eyes. She smiled.

Hermione lifted the curse after a few more seconds. Pansy curled up, hugging herself and shivering. Hermione saw beads of sweat rolling down her face. She reveled in the scene. It was so simple. One word, a few seconds, and Pansy was reduced to this pathetic state.

The silence was only broken by the sounds of Pansy's sobs. Hermione stepped towards her, slowly. She bent down and picked up Pansy's wand – a stumpy, black little thing – and tossed it under Pansy's bed. "You call yourself a witch," Hermione scoffed. "I know Muggles who would put up more of a fight." Hermione stood straight and rolled Pansy over with a foot. Through the welling tears, Hermione saw her fear, her pain. "Did you like that? Hmm? Answer me."

She shook her head, trying to roll away.

"Do you want me to do it again?"

Pansy shook her head again and sobbed even louder.

"Then you need to know that I am better than you." Hermione kicked Pansy's side and she cried. "Say it. I am better than you."

"You're better," Pansy wailed.

"Again," said Hermione, kicking once more.

"You're better than me!"

"Good." Hermione tilted Pansy's head towards her with her foot. "You're scum. Not even fit to lick the bottom of my foot." Hermione smirked. "But I'll allow it this once."

Pansy sobbed.

"You can lick my foot," she explained. "I'm high-class mud. You might never get a taste of something this much better than you, ever." Hermione lifted her foot over her mouth. "Come on." She grinned at the look of resentment on Pansy's face as she slowly stuck out her tongue. "Uh, uh, uh," Hermione chided, lifting her foot a few inches higher. "You have to work for it." With a whimper, Pansy lifted herself up enough to lick the bottom of Hermione's foot. "There you go. What a good girl." Hermione pushed her foot down on Pansy's face, wiping her saliva all over her cheek, grinding Pansy's head into the floor. "If you keep being a good girl, I might get you a treat."

Hermione turned to Daphne, who was starting at her with wide eyes, mouth hanging open. "A dog needs to be disciplined when she gets out of line."


	7. A Girl and her Betrothed

**A/N: It's looking like MMIV is actually only going to be around 20 chapters as I've cut out some sludge and created some composite chapters.**

* * *

 **Chapter VII**

 **A Girl and her Betrothed**

Pansy didn't show up for any meals until dinner the next night. She snuck in with the younger students and sat as far away from Hermione as possible.

"You didn't have to…" Daphne said in a small voice beside Hermione. She was focused on cutting her steak with delicate precision. "I mean… you didn't have to do it on my accord."

"I didn't," Hermione shook a copious amount of black pepper on her potatoes. She hadn't felt this upbeat for a long while. "Pansy has had it coming for years."

Daphne made a light hum. "Thank you, anyway. It was amazing. I never though anyone as young as us could…" Her green eyes lifted from her plate to Hermione, and she smiled. "Well, if anyone could, it would be you."

Hermione grinned back. "I always get mixed up with magic no one guesses."

"Yeah," Daphne giggled, "I've noticed. Must be all the books you read."

She shrugged. "There's a whole library of magical references, and no one really seems to take advantage of it."

"Except you," she pointed out. "You dug up books on the tournament pretty quickly."

"I had done some research before we met up."

"Still, it was quite impressive. I've been thinking I should start exploring the library more, too."

"Yeah, it would be nice to have someone there with me. I usually only have Ravenclaws for company."

"That sounds fantastic."

"I'm probably going to go there after dinner, if you want to join me?"

"I'd love to," she beamed.

A small, tawny owl swooped down between them and landed on Hermione's potatoes. "Damn bird," Hermione swatted at it, but the owl only dodged and hopped forward again.

A little strip of paper was tied to its leg and Hermione untied it.

 _I apologize for my absence last night, but I think you can understand that there were some unforeseen events that needed my attention. I have rescheduled for tonight, if you will come by my office after dinner._

 _-A.D._

Hermione bit her tongue to stop herself growling something unflattering. Her eyes flicked up to the staff table. Dumbledore was laughing at some joke the giant-woman from Beauxbaton had made. Hermione took out her wand and burned the note to a crisp.

"What was that?" asked Daphne.

"Nothing," said Hermione. "It's just… I actually can't go to the library tonight."

"Oh," said Daphne, her face falling slightly. "Okay. Another time then?"

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

"I hope I haven't caused you any inconvenience, having to reschedule on such short notice," Dumbledore said brightly when Hermione entered his office.

"Oh, no, I had fun waiting out in the hall for an hour," said Hermione.

"The halls of Hogwarts are, indeed, fun," smiled the old man. "But we have more important things to consider tonight. Last time I told you that the subject of our story is one Bellatrix Black, future wife of Rodolphus Lestrange, and currently residing in a maximum security cell in Azkaban." Dumbledore stood up and walked over to a tall cabinet sitting at the back of his office and opened it a crack, just enough to pick out a vial, and then closed it again. "This memory is from the summer of 1965. Your parents were probably still in school, then. Bellatrix was just about to begin her first year at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore waved Hermione over to a stone basin, the pensieve, and poured the silver liquid in. "Now, this will feel a bit awkward the first time, so take it slow. I need you to lean over and touch the memories with your face."

Hermione gathered her hair with her hands so it would not fall in, and leaned over slowly. About an inch from the surface, she glanced up at Dumbledore. He smiled and nodded her on. She dropped her head the last inch and her nose dipped in.

She felt herself suddenly swept off her feet and pitched forward into the dark lake of memory. She fell, and fell, until things started to take shape and she landed heavily on hardwood floors.

Hermione looked around. A large, four-post bed dominated the room. A silk sheet covered the bed and green curtains hung down from above. The frame was made entirely of black wood, polished and pristine. Plush pillows were piled high, with three stitched with golden letters, _A D B_.

A large bay window opened out with a view of what Hermione guessed was London. The drapes were pulled back and the room was bathed in warm sunlight. Across from the window, on the other side of the bed, was a door, presumably out into the rest of the house. But what caught Hermione's eye was a floor-to-ceiling mirror and the girl standing before it, twisting around and brushing off her dress. Hermione stood carefully, watching the girl.

She was about Hermione's own age. Maybe a little younger – she was quite slim. Her hair was done up in an elegant bun with a bejeweled hairclip, and was a soft, warm brown color. The dress was sleeveless, but otherwise fairly conservative. A high neckline, not too tight, and a hem that reached to her knees. It was black velvet with subtle forest green vines running the length of the dress. On her wrist rested a few golden bangles and she wore a cute little charm necklace. Her earrings looked to be real diamond studs.

As Hermione padded forward she was reminded a bit of her own mother. The girl stood absolutely straight and her thin lips did not betray an ounce of pleasure, though Hermione thought she should have been proud of her appearance. But her mother never wore anything this expensive. And the girl's face didn't strike any similarity to Helen. She had a strong jaw, prominent cheekbones, and long eyelashes. No, this girl reminded Hermione more of Daphne. Or a young Narcissa.

"If you think you recognize her," said Dumbledore's airy voice behind her. "It's because you've met her sister. Her name is Andromeda Black. At the time of this memory, she was about to enter her third year at Hogwarts."

The girl made no move to suggest she had heard Dumbledore, though she was mere feet away. Hermione waved a hand in front of her face, but her eyes stared right through it at the mirror as she tucked several stray hairs behind her ear.

"She cannot see, hear, smell, or touch you, Hermione. This is only a memory."

"Okay," said Hermione as Andromeda picked out a few perfume bottles and began testing them on her wrist. "So why are we here? Is she going to meet the Queen or something?"

Dumbledore chuckled but said nothing.

Andromeda spritzed some perfume into the air and walked through it. She fished a pair of heels off the floor and began slipping them on, all the while looking at herself in the mirror. "Tira?" she said, shocking Hermione with the lightness of her voice.

A familiar pop sounded around the room, and a big-eared house-elf jumped forward. "Yes, Mistress Andromeda?"

"Is Bella ready?" she asked, fastening the buckle on her left shoe.

"Tira tried helping Mistress Bellatrix but Mistress Bellatrix has banned Tira from her room," the elf sniffed. Hermione had only seen one house-elf up close – Villy, the Malfoy elf – but she was pretty sure this one was a girl. "Shall Tira try again?"

"No," said Andromeda, standing straight, her heels now making her several inches taller than Hermione. "I'll go take a look."

"Excellent, Mistress," Tira squeaked. "Master Cyngus wishes for me to remind you that all must go well tonight."

"Tell him that's why I've been up here for two hours getting ready," she said, a frown flashing across her face. "Tell him that's why I've tried on five different dresses, three different hairstyles, all combinations of jewelry and shoes and everything! Tell him I _know_!" Andromeda quivered at the last word, glaring at the poor house-elf, who fidgeted.

"Does Mistress really want me to tell Master that?"

"No," hissed Andromeda. "Mistress _does not_."

Tira gulped, her eyes bulging. "Can Tira do anything for Mistress?"

"Not unless you can disobey Father."

The elf whimpered.

"I thought so," Andromeda exhaled deeply, staring at herself in the mirror. She stayed there for several moments, just breathing. Then she turned and strode towards another side door, this one directly across from her bed.

Hermione and Dumbledore followed her through. The door opened up to another bedroom, very similar to Andromeda's. Upon the same bed, black wood frame and piles of pillows, laid another girl. She was flat on her stomach, feet dangling in the air, a large book spread out in front of her. She had a full head of wild black curls and a nose much too large for her small face. She had three pillows of her own, but these were embroidered with the letters _B C B_.

"Bella," came Andromeda's sharp call. "What _are_ you doing?"

"Reading," was the answer as Bella made a face. "I have to prepare for Hogwarts."

Andromeda marched up to the bed and seized the book, slamming it shut. "You'll have time for reading later. You _must_ get ready for this dinner."

"But it's just dinner," Bellatrix complained, pushing herself to her knees, eyeing the book.

"We have guests," said Andromeda, grabbing her sister's arm and pulling her off the bed and over to a large closet. "Which dress do you want to wear? You like the blue one? Cissy's wearing white, so you can't wear that one with the floral pattern."

"We always have guests," pouted Bellatrix, peering into her closet with no apparent desire to pick anything out. "They won't be here for an hour. Can't I read some more?"

"No," said Andromeda firmly, grabbing the royal blue dress off the hanger and throwing it onto the bed. "You need to get dressed _now_. Merlin, Bella, what have you done to your hair? I'll need at least half an hour to sort it out!" Andromeda started tugging unmercifully at the mess of black curls.

"It's always like that," muttered Bella sorrowfully as her sister fished out an ivory comb from the nightstand and began dragging it through her hair. "It's fine for dinners, Andie. We're not even going out."

"It doesn't matter where we're going, you're a mess and you've done nothing to sort it out yourself," Andromeda hit a snag and savagely attacked it with the comb.

" _Oww_!" Bellatrix shouted, turning around and pushing Andromeda away. "That hurt! It's just a dinner!"

"It is _not_ just a dinner!" snarled Andromeda, eyes flashing menacingly. Bellatrix recoiled and stumbled back onto her bed.

A creak of wood alerted everybody that a door was being opened, and Andromeda's face quickly morphed into the serene mask Hermione had first seen. The door was another side-door, and another girl appeared around it, a bit timidly at first. She was blonde, quite a few years younger than Bellatrix and Andromeda, and wearing a cheerful little white smock.

"Cissy," Andromeda smiled. "Excellent. I need your help."

"Really?" the girl grinned, jumping into the room.

"Yes," said Andromeda. "You're in charge of Bella's hair. Call Tira and have her bring a basin and water up here. And go into my room, I should have some product in my cabinet."

"Your room?" the blonde girl gaped, like she was in awe of being invited to enter her sister's room by herself.

"Yes, go," Andromeda commanded, and she dashed across the room and into Andromeda's.

Hermione spared a glance at Dumbledore. "Was that –?"

"Narcissa Black," he nodded.

Now Andromeda turned back to Bellatrix, stepped closer and crouched down so that they were face to face. "Listen. You have to be on your best behavior. I know mum always tells you that, but you _really_ have to tonight. I mean it, Bella."

"I don't understand," she said. "What's this about?"

Andromeda took Bellatrix's hand and held it between her own. "Just remember, I'm going to be there with you. If you get nervous or scared, I'll be right next to you."

A loud pop sounded through the room and Andromeda straightened up, leaving Bellatrix staring up at her. Narcissa, ponytail swishing behind her, ran back into the room, almost bowling over Tira and the large basin full of water. She triumphantly held up a bottle. "Got it!"

"Good," said Andromeda. "Now, you're going to wash Bella's hair twice, and then brush it as much as you can. I'll do her makeup and then we'll get her into her dress and down for dinner on time."

Narcissa beamed and dragged Bellatrix over to the basin. "This is going to be so much fun!" she giggled.

The room suddenly puffed into dark mist, and Hermione could only make out Dumbledore's figure. "There is not much of interest for the rest of that memory," he said. "Unless, perhaps, you take great interest in hair care. We shall now move an hour or so forward."

As he finished, the darkness dissolved into another scene. Hermione saw Andromeda first, standing straight and tall, with Bellatrix and Narcissa puffing into existence beside her. Two adults came into view, too, as the rest of the room appeared, but they were a bit blurry. It looked like an atrium, an entry hall. An ornate staircase ascended behind them, and a door with an intricate, circular window before them. Everyone seemed to be waiting.

Bellatrix had been fixed up, Hermione saw. Her hair looked soft and content to lay docile, for now. Andromeda had done up Bellatrix's makeup just like her own, only adding to the similarity between them. Bellatrix was already tall for her age, like Andromeda, and Hermione guessed that once they were both grown, it would be very hard to tell them apart from a distance. Only their hair appeared to be strikingly different, and that mostly because of the color.

Now Bellatrix began tapping her foot lightly and looking around. Hermione could almost hear her complain about how she could be reading instead of standing there. Perhaps her mother could too, because she said something swift and cutting that made Bellatrix stand rigid.

After a minute, the doorbell rang and the guests arrived. The Blacks stepped forward to greet them. Hermione picked out a family of four, two parents and two sons of similar ages to the elder Black girls, though the girls were easily taller than the younger boy. After the adults were introduced to the sisters, which rather reminded Hermione of the parties at Malfoy Manor, the boys were introduced as Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange. Rabastan, the younger, shorter one, had wide eyes that darted from place to place, landing on each of the girls several times, lingering on Andromeda more than once. The elder boy, Rodolphus, who stood as tall as Andromeda, even in her heels, did not have wandering eyes, but there was something just as unsettling about him. He nodded to Andromeda, who returned it curtly, and moved on to Bellatrix. She did a little curtsy and he kissed her hand. "Andromeda has spoken very highly of you," he said in a low, smooth voice. "I would greatly enjoy learning more about you."

Bellatrix's smile flickered but she did not break eye contact. "It would be my pleasure," she stammered out. Rodolphus flashed a smile he could have thought reassuring, but didn't appear to ease Bellatrix at all.

A movement caught Hermione's glance, and she watched Andromeda lean closer to Bellatrix to squeeze her hand.

The room, once again, exploded into a smoky cloud before reforming into the exact same layout, but this time the Lestrange family were gathering themselves to leave. Andromeda was bidding Rabastan a good night, but she was watching Bellatrix out of the corner of her eye. Hermione followed her gaze to where she and Rodolphus were standing.

The older boy seemed to tower over her in more than stature. "I expect you and your sister will join us on the Express next month," he was saying. "And, of course, when you are sorted into Slytherin, there is a seat waiting for you with us." Bellatrix smiled shakily and nodded at his words. Rodolphus' eyes never left hers, but Hermione could only guess what Bellatrix felt from them. They were blue, clear, and unmoving – like he wasn't seeing Bellatrix as she was, but as he imagined. His lips curled into a smile. "Good night, Bellatrix." He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

The Lestranges left, but Bellatrix's hands never stopped shaking. The sisters lined up like they had before the dinner and waited for their parents to send off the guests. When they returned, their father announced, "Tira, I think champagne is in order."

"Yes, Master," she said, hurrying off.

"Andromeda, you did very well tonight," Mr. Black said, embracing her and kissing her forehead. "I'm proud. And Bellatrix, I never thought you'd put on a lady-like display. You never once mentioned books." He hugged her, too, and kissed her cheek. Bellatrix looked ashen.

"What about me, daddy?" Narcissa squeaked.

"Yes, very well done from you, too, Ciss. Not even Aunt Walburga would have complained about you!"

Narcissa held herself high and beamed.

"Father, may I be excused?" Bellatrix almost whispered. "I feel a bit faint."

"Hmm? Yes, very well."

Bellatrix turned on the spot and began climbing the stairs, breaking into a run halfway up.

"Father, may I?" Andromeda asked, and he nodded. She was after Bellatrix in a heartbeat. Hermione had trouble keeping up with her. Bellatrix's door slammed as she reached the top landing. Andromeda tried to knob, but it was locked. She dashed down the hall to her own room, running into Narcissa.

"Wasn't that grand?" her sister said, clutching her hand. "I do so love parties."

"Sure," Andromeda said, detaching herself from Narcissa. "Just… give us a minute, will you? I need to speak to Bellatrix. Alone."

"Oh," said Narcissa. "Okay. But you said you would read from Beedle tonight."

Andromeda nodded absentmindedly. "Yeah. Sure. Just later, okay?"

"Okay."

Andromeda moved into her room, closed the door firmly behind her, and rushed through the side-door.

Bellatrix was lying on her bed, face buried in her arms. Andromeda took a seat on the side of the bed and laid a hand on her back. "Bella?" Hermione could hear the sobs coming from Bellatrix. Her body shook and Andromeda began rubbing her back. "It's going to be okay, Bella."

Her black hair swayed back and forth as she shook her head.

"Yes, it is. Do you know why?" Andromeda said in a soft voice. "Because I'm here."

"You saw him," Bellatrix cried. "You _saw_ him looking at me."

"I did. I've seen him a lot at Hogwarts. I know he seems…"

"I don't want to," Bellatrix sniffed between sobs. "I don't want to."

Andromeda bit her lip and continued rubbing her sister's back.

"I won't."

"I know you don't want to, Bella, but Father's made up his mind."

"I don't care. Father can say whatever he likes, I won't do it."

"Bella," she said with more authority. "Look at me." Slowly, the girl turned and peered up at her. Andromeda wiped away her tears with a thumb. "You're ruining my work, Bella," she smiled, and Bellatrix almost giggled through her sniffs. "Come, sit up." With some cajoling, Andromeda had Bellatrix leaning against her, and she began rocking back and forth. "You're strong, Bella. I know it. You're stronger than any of us."

"I don't feel strong," she whispered. "I can't even control my own life."

"Shh…" cooed Andromeda. "You can. There are just some things we must do that we don't want to do."

"He's four years older than me!"

"I know. But that won't be much of a difference when you're grown up."

"I don't even know him!"

"You can get to know him," she said. "And maybe you won't be afraid of him then."

"I'm not afraid."

"You don't have to lie, Bella," Andromeda pressed her lips into the hair on the top of Bellatrix's head. "I'm afraid, too."

"No, you're not," Bellatrix cried. "You're telling me everything is going to be _just fine_."

"I am, but I'm your big sister. I can't let you know I'm scared. I have to be here for you."

"But you just told me."

Andromeda hugged her tighter. "Yes, because I need you to be stronger than me. I know that you are strong enough to stand up to father – to say no. But I need you to be stronger than that."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I need you to be strong enough to say yes." Bellatrix looked up at her sister with red eyes. "I need you to say yes, Bella. You're strong enough to survive."

"You said I could say no. I want to say no."

Andromeda shook her head and ran her fingers through Bellatrix's hair. "I know you can. That's why I need you to say yes. I know you can live with him. You're strong. But what about Cissy? Do you think she could say no? Do you think she could live her own life if Father gave her to Lestrange? Would she be happy?"

Bellatrix rubbed her eyes dry. "What do you mean? There are only two Lestrange boys."

"Yes, but there are three Black girls."

"Cissy…" Bellatrix breathed.

"Cissy. She's so sweet and helpful, and you see how she want to make Father happy and proud. She'd never say no to him. She'd let Lestrange beat her if Father wanted it."

Bellatrix shook her head. "I'd kill him. I'd kill them both."

"I know," Andromeda said soothingly. "You're strong, Bella. I need you to act like it. If Father thinks you won't go through with it, he'll let Rodolphus take Narcissa. We can't let that happen, okay? We can't let it happen."

"It's not fair," Bellatrix snuffled. "I don't want to."

"Bella," Andromeda lifted her chin so they could look at each other. "Bella, we can do this. We have to do this. For Cissy. I look out for you because you're my little sister. Are you going to look out for Cissy? Are you going to be strong for your little sister?"

Bellatrix looked on the verge of tears again. "You're going to be with me?"

Andromeda nodded and stroked her cheek with her thumb. "All the way. You and me, Bella. Together."

"Together?" Bella choked, burying her head on Andromeda's neck.

"Together," she said, kissing the top of her head. "I promise."

The world broke around Hermione. First the room went up in smoke, then Bellatrix dissolved, and lastly, Andromeda melted away.

"It's time to go," Dumbledore said, laying a hand on Hermione's shoulder. A great rush of something lifted Hermione out of the darkness, and then out of the water and she was leaning over the pensieve with Dumbledore standing by her side.

Hermione took a breath and it felt like her first breath for hours. She stared at the watery memories, bits and pieces reflecting back at her. She looked over at Dumbledore. "What the hell was that?"

"That," he said gently. "Was a defining moment in two young women's lives."

A tingling crawled up Hermione's spine. It was a feeling she hadn't felt in years. Since she had taken the Polyjuice Potion and turned into Padma Patil. It was a feeling of guilt, shock, _perversion_. She shouldn't have seen that. No one should be able to watch someone's most personal memories.

"Why did you show me?" she quivered.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, as if it were obvious. "Context."

"Are you sure it wasn't 1865? Or 1465?"

He nodded. "Quite."

Hermione could only stare at him. "How medieval are you people?"

"'You people'?" he asked with a smile. "Do you mean wizards?"

"Purebloods, wizards, whatever. They're clearly getting married against their wills. That's barbaric."

"That's life, for many people, even today," said Dumbledore. "It is a strategic move to secure wealth, inheritance, bloodlines and social standing. Only the most… historic families still practice arranged marriages, and recent legislation has cracked down on contracts between unwilling parties, but it does, indeed, happen. And for the record, Miss Granger, I am not a pureblood."

"But you put up with it? You allow your students to be bought and sold?"

"My dear, I would never condone such actions. In fact, had I known a student of mine was in such a predicament, I would have gladly stepped in. However, as you must know, the families who keep the practice raise their children to be insular, secluded, and not very communicative of hard circumstances. Many would rather put up with such an arrangement for fear of embarrassment, harassment, or exclusion from their family."

"They'd be disowned," Hermione said flatly, and Dumbledore nodded.

"The Black family is known for harsh judgments on their own. Andromeda and Bellatrix would have known that, and they knew the circumstances, and chose what they thought the best option to be."

"I've never heard of Andromeda Black," said Hermione. "Or Andromeda Lestrange."

"No, I don't suppose you have," sighed Dumbledore.

"Narcissa talks to me. She's mentioned her sister, Bellatrix, but not Andromeda. She's not… dead, is she?"

"Not to the world, no. That, however, is for another lesson. It is late, Miss Granger, and I would not be a good headmaster if I didn't allow you prepare adequately for your day classes. I shall call it a night here."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

"How are your… lessons with the Headmaster going?" said Professor Snape in a slow voice, appearing outside Dumbledore's office as Hermione came out.

"Fine, Professor," Hermione said, sidestepping to get away, but Snape held out his hand to stop her.

"They wouldn't be going to your head, would they?"

"No," Hermione tried to get by him again, but he stepped into her way.

He fixed his cold eyes on her. "You wouldn't think that you were capable enough to enter yourself into the tournament, would you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir," said Hermione.

"I have noticed a distinct change in you, Miss Granger, over the summer holiday."

"Maybe that has something to do with almost dying twice in a year," she bit.

"And you survived both times. But do not think that makes you invulnerable."

"I understand my mortality, Professor."

"Do not think that having lessons with Dumbledore make you special. You are not the first to have been taught by the Headmaster."

"Sure. He was a professor here before headmaster." He did not respond. "Of course I'm not the only one."

"You tried to enter the tournament."

"Did I?" Hermione gritted her teeth. "I would think I would have beaten out Potter, at the very least. I understand Diggory, he's not a bad wizard, but _Potter_?"

"Think of it as a blessing that you were not chosen. I do not doubt that Potter has bitten off more than even Weasley can chew. Regardless, you were incredibly reckless in attempting to enter."

"If I keep getting attacked at school, why not make it a competition I can win a thousand galleons in?"

"So you admit it?"

"Does it really matter _if_ I tried? Obviously, I'm not in the tournament."

* * *

 **For these flashbacks, the main ages you need to know are:**

 **Rodolphus: 14 (summer before 4th year)**

 **Andromeda: 13 (summer before 3rd year)**

 **Bellatrix + Rabastan: 11 (starting Hogwarts)**

 **Lucius: 10**

 **Narcissa: 8**

 **Sirius, et al.: 5**

 **Regulus: 4**

 **Dumbledore will provide a point of reference in each flashback so you can compute their current ages.**


	8. By Invitation Only

**A/N: For those wondering why it is Bella/Rod and not Andie/Rod because of the age switch, it's a matter of inheritance. Instead of matching eldest to eldest and having their child be the heir to both the Lestranges and Cyngus' Black line, they split it up. Bella/Rod issue would be the Lestrange heir but not Cyngus's heir; Andie/Rab issue would be Cyngus' heir but not the Lestrange heir. Andie and Rab's marriage would be matrilineal.**

* * *

 **Chapter VIII**

 **By Invitation Only**

"Can you believe that hag Chang managed to seduce Diggory?" Pansy was saying a few chairs away. "I mean, I know he's a Hufflepuff, but that doesn't mean he has to do charity work for the Yule Ball."

"Cho's pretty enough," said Tracey, reading a magazine.

"Not even," coughed Pansy. "She's practically thinner than her broom!"

"And Diggory needs a real woman."

"Diggory needs a woman with curves. A real woman," Pansy said as if Tracey hadn't said anything.

"Someone like you," Blaise sighed from his slumped place on a nearby couch.

"Someone like me."

Hermione fought the urge to inflict pain on Pansy and threw off the image of Diggory dancing with a leech stuck on his arm.

"That's new," she said, noticing that Daphne was wearing a new, sleek bracelet.

"Oh," she flashed a small smile. "Yeah."

"It's pretty."

"Thanks. Hey, do you remember what page the table of counter-curses was on?"

"One-forty-four," Hermione said automatically.

"You!" boomed a voice over the din of the common room.

Hermione looked up. Theo Nott was stomping in, flushed and breathing deep, fists clenched. If Hermione had been the subject of his gaze, she might have been caught like a deer in the headlights, but she was not the target of his fury.

"Hello, Nott," Blaise said in a faltering calm voice. He slowly folded up his paper and stood.

"You son of a bitch," Nott spat, closing the distance in an instant. "You fucking prick." She had never seen the boy this enraged.

"Can I help you?" Blaise stuck his hands in his pockets and tilted his head.

She could see the throbbing veins in Nott's neck from across the room.

For a rich wizard, Nott packed a potent punch. Blaise probably thought Nott wouldn't assault him in the common room. He was wrong, and he left himself completely undefended. Nott's fist impacted his face dead-on and Blaise collapsed to the ground with a cry.

The screeching of chairs and unintelligible shouts went up around the common room. Nott launched a powerful kick into Blaise' ribs.

" _Theodore!_ " Daphne screamed above the din.

Nott looked up and bared his teeth. "Taking their side, then?"

"Theo," said Draco.

"This mulatto motherfucker –"

"I don't care," Draco cut him off. "Not here. Not now."

Nott fumed for several moments. Hermione thought there would be smoke billowing out of his ears at any time. "You better keep yours on a leash, Draco," he said, finally. He turned but stopped and looked at Pansy. She was as shocked as anyone and almost fell over when Nott stepped towards her. He grabbed her and pulled her in.

Hermione cringed. It looked like he was eating her mouth.

When they separated, Pansy was breathing hard. "Come," Nott said, leading her away by her arm.

"Okay," she sighed, not even concealing her silly grin. The pair made quickly for the stairs down to the dorms.

Daphne walked over to Blaise, now kneeling and holding a pool of blood in his palm, with more drops spluttering from his nose with each breath. "Are you okay?"

Blaise peered up at her and pulled a face. "Brilliant."

"You knew what would happen," she said.

"Not entirely. Didn't think shrimpy had a bludger for an arm."

Daphne shook her head and pulled him up to his feet. "Let's get you to the infirmary."

Hermione settled back into her chair. The common room slowly returned to normal. She didn't want to do Moody's homework right now, really. She could easily do it later. And it had been a while since she and Draco had been alone. Without the company of their year-mates. She slid her chair up next to him, wrapped her arms around him and rested her chin on his shoulder. "Are you bored?"

"Yes," he said immediately. Draco pulled her onto his lap and grinned.

"Want to do something?"

"Sure. What are you thinking?"

Hermione shrugged and nuzzled his neck. "You think of something."

"I can think of a lot of things. But most of them just got nixed. I don't even want to know what Theo is doing to Pansy right now. In the room I sleep in!"

Hermione didn't want to imagine it either. The two Slytherins she liked least… "It's probably no worse than we've done..."

"No, Hermione, you're wrong on this one. What we do is a lot better because we're not _them_."

"We _are_ so much better than them." She giggled and kissed him lightly. "I didn't even know they were…"

"I don't think they were. But we were talking about us."

"I told you to think of something."

"That's right." Draco leaned back in his chair. His fingers began running up and down her back. His neck smelt of pine. A sweet freshness. His hands found their way under her wool jumper and were now only separated from her skin by thin cotton. His fingertips dug into her back and she breathed in his scent again. She missed being this close to Draco. There was always something to read, something to write, a class to attend, or too many people around. She missed being this close to someone else. It reminded her that she didn't have to be the Hogwarts champion to be wanted. She only had to be herself.

Hermione tilted Draco's chin with a finger and kissed him, letting it linger a moment. "Let's go somewhere private," she whispered.

"Yeah?" he said, grinning again.

She failed at suppressing a juvenile smile and nodded.

They hurried out of the common room together, hand in hand. Hermione pulled him into the empty classroom she used for her tutoring class.

"In here?" Draco asked.

"Mmm," was the only sound Hermione could make when her tongue was making a beeline for his.

Draco walked them further into the classroom, pulling off her jumper. He lifted her onto a desk and began unbuttoning her shirt. Hermione locked her legs around his waist. "Draco," she said between kisses and the tingling sensation that fluttered through her body. "The Yule Ball is in a few weeks."

"Mmhmm," he murmured, abandoning her buttons and kissing her neck.

"You still haven't asked me," she said, rubbing her body against his. She was still amazed at the actual mass of another person in this proximity. Seeing someone was really nothing compared to _feeling_ them.

"Haven't I?"

"No." She pulled his head up to meet his lips. "You should ask me."

"Okay."

Hermione pulled his jumper over his head and pressed her hands against his chest. "No, ask me for real."

Draco laced his fingers through her thick hair. "Right now?"

"Why not?"

"Why not later?"

"Because right now is perfect," she grinned. "Don't you think?" He smiled meekly but did not meet her gaze. "Don't you think?" Hermione repeated, pulling back a little. Eye contact at this distance could be a bit awkward, mechanically.

He did look up at her now. "I think this is a perfect moment."

"Good," she said. "So ask me now."

"How about later?"

"It's ten words, Draco. Just repeat after me: 'Hermione, will you go to the Yule Ball with me?'. It's not that hard."

"Harder than you think," he grumbled.

"You know what my answer is going to be," Hermione sighed. This was getting exasperating. It wasn't like their relationship was secret or anything. No one would bat an eye that Draco would ask his girlfriend to the ball. "Just ask the damn question."

"I can't," he said suddenly, taking a step back. "Okay? I can't."

Hermione's legs dangled off the desk. "What do you mean you can't?"

"I mean that I can't ask you."

She stared at him, not really understanding. "I'm going to say yes, Draco. Everyone expects us to go together. You can ask me."

"No, not everyone expects." He put his hands on his head.

"What do you mean? We've been dating for, what, almost a year?"

"Almost."

"In that time, who here doesn't know we're together?"

"I don't know."

"And I don't care. So ask me."

"I can't, Hermione. I told you. My father…"

"What does your father have to do with this?"

"Everything."

"You have to clear your date to a school dance with your father?"

"No. Yes. No."

"I'm getting mixed signals here, Draco. Your father hasn't endorsed me as a dance partner?"

Draco ran his fingers through his hair. "Something like that. No, not that. It's just... Father has his opinions on matters."

"Yes, I've noticed," Hermione hummed.

"He has lots of opinions. Strong opinions. And he makes things happen."

"I still don't get it."

A pained look crossed Draco's face. "He wants me to go with Daphne."

Hermione took a beat. "Daphne?"

"Yes, Daphne."

"Why Daphne?" she asked slowly, afraid of the answer.

Draco just gave her a grave look.

"Because I'm –" she couldn't help herself.

"Because you are," interrupted Draco, sparing her the pain of saying it out loud.

Hermione didn't know what to say. "Because…"

"Yes."

"But…"

"I know."

She felt a lump in her throat that wouldn't go away. What was that feeling? Betrayal? "Narcissa – your mother –"

"Mother doesn't always agree with father."

"He listens to her –"

"Not in this."

"Your father wants you to go with Daphne."

Draco nodded.

Hermione stared at the ground for a minute. It was so stupid. So, so stupid. She couldn't imagine being beholden to her father like this. "Just ignore him." She ignored her father, on occasion. Why couldn't Draco?

"He's my father –"

"And you're Draco Malfoy," Hermione jumped off the desk and grabbed Draco by his loose tie. "Ask your damn girlfriend to shuffle around the fucking Great Hall."

"I _can't_ just ignore him," Draco shook his head as if defeated.

"How will he even know?" Hermione said quickly, feeling just a bit irked that Draco didn't want to grow a backbone. "He's not going to be here."

"He'll find out."

"And so what if he does?" demanded Hermione.

"He's my father. He's ordered me to ask Daphne to the Yule Ball. I can't get out of it. He gave me a bracelet to give to her and everything."

Hermione took a step back. "Excuse me?"

"I asked Daphne to the ball."

"You _what_?"

"I asked Daphne to the Yule Ball, okay?"

Hermione stared at him. It felt like an icy dagger had been plunged into her heart. He couldn't even meet her eyes.

"You asked Daphne," she whispered. He nodded slowly. "To the Yule Ball." He nodded again. "And she accepted."

"Look, she's in the same position as me –" He tried to move closer to her but Hermione pushed him back. "Our parents –"

" _You asked Daphne?_ " Hermione shouted, lashing out at him. Draco took a step back and held up his hands.

"It's not like I wanted to."

"You wanted to ask me, then?"

"Of course!"

"But you didn't," she snarled. "Because she's a pureblood."

"Because she's from a well-respected family."

"Because she's a pureblood," Hermione spat. "And what am I? A fucking dog?"

"Come on, Hermione –"

"A filthy little _mudblood_?" Hermione collected her jumper from the ground and pulled it over her head to hide her burning cheeks and watery eyes for just a moment.

"Hermione, you know I don't think that."

"Don't you? You wouldn't do this to Pansy or Daphne, or even Tracey. But it's okay if I'm just a mud-crawling animal?"

"It's just a school dance, like you said. Daphne and I will sit together, but that's it."

"That's _it_? _That's it_?" She couldn't understand how he could hear himself and still believe he wasn't doing something wrong. Hermione felt the tears coming but ignored them. "Yeah, you're only taking another girl to a school-wide dance. You're only showing the entire student body that you prefer Miss Perfect Pureblood Princess. Your mudblood whore is only good between the sheets."

"It's not like that Hermione. I'm not dating Daphne."

"I'm just supposed to cheer you on while you cozy up to my closest female friend in front of the whole scshool? I'm supposed to run back to you when you need someone to shag? Do you not understand how _humiliating_ this is?"

"I'm not trying –"

"That is exactly the problem." Hermione tried buttoning up her shirt under her jumper but gave it up with a sob. "I bet you didn't even think about disobeying daddy."

"Hermione, it's one evening for, like, two hours. I don't even have to be with Daphne the entire time. _We_ can still dance together. _We_ 're not over."

"Yes we are."

"What?" His mouth hung open.

"If you think _for one instant_ that I would _ever_ settle for second place on _anything_ , then you don't know me at all."

"It's not coming second."

"You know what? You're right," she gasped. "I'll just sit here meekly while you prance around with any purebred mare you take a fancy to. You'll be back, eventually. I just have to watch and wait."

"I'm not asking you to wait –"

"Do you remember what I told you last year? I let the World Cup slide because your parents _might_ have invited Daphne themselves. But now? You can get the fuck out." She pointed a quivering finger at the door.

"Hermione, we can talk about this –"

"I've got spells to make you say whatever I please. Your words mean nothing to me."

"You don't mean that," said Draco.

"Yeah?" Hermione grasped for her wand. "Go ask your new girlfriend how long you'd last. She seemed pretty impressed in how much pain I can cause. Or maybe I'll skip the unforgivables and castrate you with a simple ' _diffindo_ '." Hermione pointed her wand lower.

Draco flinched and turned his body sideways. He opened his mouth to say something but she was done with his words. Done with Draco. _"Bombarda!_ "

He ducked quickly and the spell only cracked the stone wall beside the doorway. Draco had darted out of the classroom before she released her second spell, lashing a cut across the heavy door.

And she was alone in the classroom.

She let go of trying to control the tears – trying to control herself – and fell to her knees, sobbing into her hands. She stayed there for several minutes thinking of how unfair it all was. Draco was supposed to be her best friend, her boyfriend, _hers_. How could he betray her like this?

But wasn't it all so obvious? Inevitable, even?

Hermione had expected it two years ago, when Draco began their friendship. She expected him to drop her at any time. She was just a mudblood. He couldn't really care about her. He only wanted what she could give him.

Well, he had taken what he wanted. Her intelligence, her body… That was all he was after. And she just gave it to him. For what? To be accepted into a group that would never respect her?

But he did seem regretful – as little as it mattered. He didn't seem to want to hurt her. He even wanted to explain himself. Did he care enough about her to need her to understand?

It was all so confusing. So complicated. So _stupid_.

Hermione didn't want engage in stupid activities. She was above them. But Draco dragged her down into them. And she liked it. She humored herself because he made her feel… what did he make her feel? It wasn't something she wanted to analyze because it would lead to difficult questions, and more difficult answers. It was something to indulge, from time to time, not to question. Hermione didn't want to call it was love. Because how could it be love? They were fifteen – and love was such a silly construct, really. A biological, evolutionary trick played by the brain on itself. A devious, demented trick.

And Hermione knew that. So why did it still _hurt_ so much?

"Fuck," she sniffed. " _FUCK!_ " she screamed louder, lashing her wand at the nearest desk. It shattered into a thousand bits of wood.

That didn't help. She still felt the pain. She needed something else.

Revenge.

Hermione needed revenge.

When Weasley and Potter were bastards to her, she returned in kind.

When Pansy was a bitch, she returned in kind, and then more. And it felt so, _so_ good.

All she needed was to find how to return the favor to Draco.

Simple.

She needed to find someone to make Draco feel small and insignificant. Someone she would take to the Yule Ball and snog the fuck out of in front of him. Show him that he meant as little to her as she meant to him. Someone like a Tri-Wizard champion. A better seeker than him. Older than him. Handsomer than him. Better than him. And a Hufflepuff to boot.

Cedric Diggory was the answer. Cedric Diggory would put Draco in his place.

Hermione wiped her eyes clear and stood, straightening herself out and making herself presentable.

She stepped out into the hallway. Draco was nowhere to be seen. Hermione took off in the opposite direction of the Slytherin dorms. She hadn't ever been to the Hufflepuff common room, but she knew it was somewhere in the dungeons. Somewhere around here.

Hermione spent five minutes wandering the corridors looking for a stray badger to follow before remembering, in a moral sapping second, what Pansy had been saying. Diggory was going with Cho Chang.

 _Perfect_ , cursed Hermione.

But all was not lost. A new candidate had popped into her mind and she was surprised she hadn't thought of it before. A Hufflepuff might have pissed Draco off, but what would hurt him more? If Hermione showed up with his idol.

And Victor Krum was known to take runs around the lake this time of day. With a triumphant smile, she set off up the stairs to the main level of the castle.

Hermione stepped onto the bridge off to the grounds at a half-jog, only slowing to a normal pace when she saw a gaggle of girls coming up from the other side. Still, she walked quickly. As she approached the girls, she saw blue scarves and ties. Ravenclaws. A year or two older than Hermione, she guessed. She had never had any classes with them, but they didn't look like seventh years.

They had passed each other without a word when Hermione saw someone run quickly onto the bridge. Black hair, skinny, and all-together runt-like. It was Harry Potter. Champion of Hogwarts. The-Boy-Who-Lucked-into-Everything. "Hey," he said, and then again louder, "Hey!" Potter was looking past her. At the Ravenclaw girls.

Hermione looked back. One of them was Cho Chang. And Potter was making googly eyes at her. She wanted to stop and watch the train wreck. He would ask her out in front of all her friends and then get rejected out of hand. But as he raised the shout one last time, another idea squeezed its way into her head.

"Hey!" he said loudly, now getting one of the last Ravenclaws to turn.

"What do you want, Potter?" Hermione said loud enough for it to carry on to the girls. "You don't have to shout at me."

Potter gave her a dismissive glance. "I'm not –"

"Shut up, Potter," said Hermione, grabbing his arm as he tried to pass her. "She's taken."

"Who – what?"

"Chang is with Diggory."

"What do you mean?"

"Chang. Diggory. Yule Ball."

Potter licked his lips, glancing at the retreating Ravenclaws. "How do you know?"

"I hear things. Point is, I just saved you some embarrassment."

"Okay… but why?"

Hermione crossed her arms. "Why do I do anything? I want something."

"Yeah, well – I'm busy, Granger."

"Mmhmm. I could tell. How long did you spend on your 'fly around a fire-breathing dragon' plan? Must've stayed up way past your bedtime."

"Your eyes are red," he said. "Been crying?"

Hermione hesitated, and Potter tried to dart away. She followed. "None of your business. I'm talking to you."

"We've been doing so well at not doing that," he muttered, not slowing up.

"I have an amendment to our status quo."

"Big words, Granger. I might not know what you're saying."

"It means –"

"God, Granger – I know it means!"

"Well, how was I supposed to know that?"

"I'm not a complete dolt."

"Maybe not _completely_ …"

"What do you want and how soon can you go away?"

"I have a proposal and as soon as possible."

"As long as it doesn't have anything to do with a ring," he said.

"No, I definitely want to marry a Gryffindor who is famous for not dying when he should have. But –"

"No, you're more into the one who is famous for having a bag of galleons where his asshole should be – oh, and being an asshole."

Hermione bit her tongue, focusing on that physical pain. "Do you want to get one over on the asshole?"

Potter gave her a sidelong look. "Not having a spat, are we?"

"Pastures new, and all that."

"Really?" He sounded half interested.

"It doesn't really matter. Do you want something to throw in his face?"

"Besides dungbombs? Maybe. What is it?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Go to the Yule Ball with me."

Potter came to a halt. "Excuse me?"

"You're excused. Now say yes."

His brows were pushed so far together he had a unibrow. "You're for real?"

"As real as magic."

"Uhh… I already have a date…"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You were just looking for Girl Number Two a minute ago, then?"

"How do you even –"

"Intuition. And just about every girl is keeping tabs on which champion has a date yet."

"You're not one of them, are you?"

"Of course not. I hear things."

"Well, it doesn't matter who I am or am not going with – I'm not going with you."

"Because I'm a Slytherin or because I'm too good looking for you?"

Potter snorted. "Because you're insane."

"You've waited this long. Who else have you got? A bunch of bumbling fangirls, prepubescent children and Virginia?"

"Ginny's going with Neville," he muttered.

Hermione had to hold her laughter. She still needed him to say yes. "So it's down to the fangirls and first years. Do you want to go to a dance with someone who wants you to sign their whatever every five minutes? Or do you prefer the eleven-year-olds?"

"No –"

"So you want to go with someone who is near your age? Someone who won't embarrass you?"

"I suppose –"

"So that eliminates just about everyone left."

"Except you?"

"Except me."

"You wouldn't prefer some Slytherin bully?"

"I'd prefer the Hogwarts Champion. But I'll settle for you."

"Why exactly do you want to do this?"

"Because no one fucks with me and gets away with it."

* * *

 **This has been coming for a while so I hope it isn't a surprise.**

 **This year is dominated by personal drama, not my personal preference but it is all important to set up the characters and relationships for when the real fireworks go off. There will be significant plot payoff for most of this angsty-drama down the road.**


	9. Seasonal Depression

**A/N: Sorry about the week delay, but this was a monster and needed substantial work before release. It is about 2x as long as a normal chapter, so there is that...**

* * *

 **Chapter IX**

 **Seasonal Depression**

Hermione watched with horror as Pansy treated her face like a canvas used for a finger-painting class. Cherry red lipstick. Red tinted eyeshadow. Heavy black eyeliner. Her dress was a skimpy thing. Black and lacy and showing what a 'real woman' she was. In short, Hermione wondered if she was auditioning for an adult film. If wizards actually had those. They did have moving photographs…

And she wouldn't shut up about how fantastic Nott was. Like a week of sticking his tongue down her throat made him the fucking Prince of Wales.

But Pansy wasn't on her list tonight. Surprisingly. She had been almost pleasant recently. Almost. Mostly because her self-centered babble, while trite and a little bit annoying, usually did not involve Hermione directly. Tracey and Millicent took the brunt of the assault. And they bore it with impressive restraint. Tracey didn't once imply, let alone say to her face, that Nott was only interested in her because Astoria preferred Blaise.

Which placed Blaise right on her list. Hermione wouldn't have guessed that. He was reserved, respectful, if a bit aloof. Not the attributes that would get him on the list. But there he was.

Hermione wasn't much pleased with anyone taking Astoria to the Yule Ball. She was too young. Too naïve. Hermione couldn't help but think that Blaise was taking advantage of her. Though, in the back of her mind, Hermione told herself that Astoria had the sense to pass Nott by. She wasn't a Barbie that would allow herself to be passed around. She wasn't Pansy. She wasn't her sister.

Which took Hermione to #2 on her list. Daphne. Miss Greengrass. Bitch in sheep's clothing. Playing nice all year. Being Hermione's "friend". Then turning around and stabbing her in the back. Well, now she was stuck with that ass at #1. Hermione wouldn't even think about him. But he sure would be thinking about her tonight. Especially when she steps out to take the first dance. Then they'll see who came off worse.

"I like your dress, Hermione," Tracey said, eyeing her through the mirror as she applied some subtle eye shadow - though a blob of acrylic paint would pass for subtle compared to Pansy's ghastly application. "Madam Malkin's?"

"What? Oh, yeah," Hermione said, looking down at her green silk dress.

"You've got a date, right?" said Tracey.

"Mmhmm," said Hermione, continuing to comb her hair so it would stay "flat", or what passed for it.

"Who?" she asked.

"You'll see."

"Maybe not. I'm going with Zach Smith. I'll be stuck with the 'Puffs all night."

Hermione made a face. Smith was notoriously full of himself. "Hunting that Hufflepuff inheritance?"

Tracey grinned. "Doesn't hurt."

"He's kind of a jerk."

"All boys are jerks, Hermione," Tracey cooed. "I look for the most entertaining. And Smithy is that."

Hermione agreed. "Well, I'm still sure you'll see who I'm going with."

"I better. Hey, Millie, you're still with Warrington?" Tracey called across to Millicent.

"He's still with me," the girl grumbled. "Haven't decided if I want to keep him, yet."

"He'd have been a nice catch if he got Hogwarts champion."

"That he would," said Millicent, walking out of the bathroom. "I'll be in the common room, then."

"Yeah, I'll be there in a sec," Tracey said, smoothing out her dress and picking at a loose hair. "I heard there's going to be an after party. You ever have firewhiskey?" She grinned at Hermione's curled lip. "It's not that bad once you've had a shot or two."

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not too interested in that."

"Good," she laughed, packing up her makeup kit and heading back into the room. "Because it's still bad after five shots."

Hermione turned back to the mirror. Perhaps it was confidence, or perhaps it was her antipathy for Pansy, but Hermione had chosen to go for a minimalist strategy for her makeup and hair. Pink, glossy lipstick and the basics. A spritz of perfume. For her hair, a thorough wash and brush, a simple hairclip to keep her curls away from her face, and she let the rest fall as it will. Free, loose, lively. She needed to look like she was having a good time.

When she looked back down the row of sinks she saw that Pansy had left and Hermione was now alone with one other person. Daphne was fiddling with some brushes and makeup boxes and not really doing anything. Her eyes flicked up to Hermione, but quickly went back down when she saw Hermione looking at her. A second later, she turned to Hermione and opened her mouth. Daphne had pulled her hair back just like how Narcissa had hers when Hermione first met her. Daphne didn't have as many pieces of jewelry, but she was by no means left bare. She had a necklace and that bracelet.

Hermione didn't give her time to say anything. She brushed past the other girl and fished her shoes off the floor. Hermione perched on the side of her bed and slipped them on, making sure the straps were tight enough, but wouldn't dig into her feet. They weren't very opulent heels, but they provided a good inch or two. They were a simple beige leather – or something that looked like leather. Hermione was sure that if she took a look around the room she would find gem studded, dragon leather, five inch heels painted with the blood of harpies and forged in the fires of Mount Doom by slave labor goblins, complete with enchantments to make any boy within a five-meter radius fall under the wearer's spell.

But she liked her shoes. They were simple. She could walk in them.

Hermione knew the common room was bustling even before she left her dorm. Girls were hurrying back and forth along the hallway. Some giggled, some were hyperventilating. She hugged the wall and made it up the stairs to the common room, where it seemed the whole of Slytherin had gathered. And the whole of Slytherin could barely fit.

The older students had commandeered most of the central seating, and sat around with their dates and conversed like they were at a Malfoy dinner party. They sat back, crossed their legs, put their arms around their date's shoulders or waists, made good-natured quips and laughed at the right time, and all together acted like they were all that.

And compared to the other students, they were.

Those around Hermione's age who were going to the ball were cloistered in their respective cliques, standing in circles and excluding any unknown. They shuffled uncomfortably. Some were touching their dates. Most were not.

Then there were the little ones. Third years and below who had not been cherry-picked by an older student were hanging around on the fringes, trying to get a look at the crowd. Hermione saw some of her tutoring charges whispering to each other, eyes roving. She wondered what interested them most. Well, the boys probably were quite excited about seeing the older girls without their heavy robes about them. Plenty of the older boys were excited about that, too. Perverts.

"Hey," Tracey said, catching Hermione's elbow. "Your boy here?"

"No," she replied. "Not a Slytherin."

"Didn't think so," she said. "You wanna get out of here ahead of the crowd? I need to catch me a Hufflepuff heir."

"Sure," said Hermione. Together, they picked their way through the throng of Slytherins, careful not to step on anyone's expensive, family-heirloom dress robes.

The temperature dropped about ten degrees as they stepped out into the dungeon hallway. A minute later they ran into a pack of badgers on their way to the ball. Tracey claimed her date and the group started up to the main level.

"Say, Granger," Smith said with that smug mug of his, "I was wondering what you got on your last charms exam."

"Well, if you give me your paper, I'd be glad to correct it for you," Hermione sniffed at him.

Tracey caught her laughter in her stomach, trying not to embarrass her date. Smith didn't engage Hermione after that.

"So, not Finch-Fletchley, then?" Tracey asked Hermione.

Hermione looked over her shoulder and saw Justin talking with a blonde Hufflepuff girl. He would have been a fine date. But she wasn't going for fine.

"No, not him."

"Ravenclaw, then?" Tracey guessed. "Boot? I've seen you around Boot."

"Not Terry," sighed Hermione. "Why are you so interested?"

Tracey shrugged. "Because you won't say. My interest is inverse of someone's willingness to spill the beans. You didn't get Roger Davies, did you?"

"Davies?" Hermione made a face. "What would I see in Davies?"

"He's big, strong, older, and a quidditch star. Come on, what don't you see in him?"

"I'm big, strong, and a quidditch star," Smith smirked.

"One for three, Smithy," Hermione said. "I could give you the answer sheet, but that wouldn't be sporting."

Smith made a noise and looked away.

"Davies is dull. And I barely know him. He could be super creepy or something."

"Yeah," Tracey conceded. "But who else would you keep from me?"

"Anyone. You're a gossip."

"Only with the girls," Tracey said, pulling a puppy face, but she quickly got over it. "It's gotta be someone high profile. Davies is quidditch captain. That's high profile. Millie's got Warrington. All the Slytherin boys are accounted for. Diggory's got Chang, as Pansy has pointed out to us multiple times –" Tracey seized Hermione's arm and gasped. "You're not going with Victor Krum are you?"

Hermione unhinged Tracey's claw. "You mean that mumbling, bumbling, barbarian of a Bulgarian? Please. He was my second choice."

Tracey made an indignant noise and pouted. "He's not bumbling. He caught the snitch at the World Cup final."

"A game he lost," Hermione reminded her. The came upon the entry hall outside the Great Hall. There was already a decently sized crowd assembled and milling about.

"So where is he?" asked Tracey, peering around, looking for any boy heading towards Hermione.

Potter was on the other side of the room with Weasley. The redhead had that bimbo Lavender hanging around him. Potter saw her too, but he made no move towards her.

"Somewhere," Hermione said. "Listen, I'm going to go say hi to Padma, okay?"

Tracey shrugged and Hermione walked towards the Ravenclaw girl. She didn't have much to say to her, but Hermione wanted to ditch Tracey. "Hi, Padma," she said.

"Hi," said Padma. "You look great."

"Thanks, you too. Who're you going with?"

She cracked a rare little smile. "Victor Krum."

Hermione took a second to confirm she heard that right. "Krum?"

Padma nodded. "He asked me in the library a few weeks ago. You know, he's not as dull as you'd think."

"Well, good luck," said Hermione. "I've got to go find mine."

"Have fun," Padma said, waving her off.

Hermione wandered around the hall for a minute, getting closer to the other side without making it seem like that was her destination. Finally, her path brought her in contact with Potter and Weasley.

The boys stared at her. Lavender Brown narrowed her eyes.

For a moment she couldn't say anything.

"What exactly is that you're wearing, Ronald?" she said, eyes fixed on the abomination of frills and lace.

His hands instinctively went to the offending material.

"It's called a dress robe, Granger," Lavender Brown struck a haughty pose.

"It's a classic," added Ronald.

"If you say so. It looks a bit tacky."

Ronald turned his nose up at her. "Come on, Harry. You said you had a partner. Where is she?"

Hermione turned her eye to Potter, who quickly averted his eyes and chewed his lip.

"You didn't just say that, did you, mate? You do have someone?"

"Yes, Ron," said Potter.

"Well, she better show up on time or you're in for it. I mean, Lavender will dance with you if you need someone…"

"I will, will I?" Lavender piped up.

"She's here, Ron," murmured Potter.

"Yeah?" Ronald scanned the room, overlooking Hermione. "Where."

Potter scratched his shaggy hair and made a little flick.

"What's that?" Ronald imitated the flick. "You haven't got tick, do you?"

Potter made another, more obvious head roll towards Hermione.

Ronald looked at her. Then back to Potter. "No."

Hermione grinned cruelly and grabbed Potter's arm. "Don't feel bad that he didn't ask you, Ronald. It's just politics."

"You're not serious, Harry! She's –"

"Champions, over here!" she heard McGonagall call over the crowd.

"That's us," said Hermione, pulling Potter away.

They were seated at the high table with the rest of the champions and their dates, as well as the judges. Dumbledore smiled when he saw her sit down with Potter, but didn't say anything. Madam Maxime and Igor Karkaroff sat on either side of Dumbledore, and Hermione spotted Ludo Bagman, usually cheery, looking a bit put off to be next to the Eastern European headmaster. Hermione and Potter were sat on Maxime's side of Dumbledore, and she expected the dour Crouch to appear. However, Hermione was surprised when Percival Weasley sat down next to her.

"Miss Granger," he said pleasantly. "I did not know you knew Harry so well."

"Oh, well…" Hermione gathered herself. "We've been through some things last few years."

Percival nodded gravely. "I don't think I ever managed to thank you. For what you did for Ginny."

"What I did?" she gulped.

"I don't think she'd be alive if you didn't fight off that Lockhart character. Very brave of you."

"Ah," Hermione nodded, staring down at her empty plate. He didn't sound like he knew the entire story.

"Harry," Percival changed his focus to Potter. "You'll be pleased to know that I've been promoted! Personal Assistant to Mister Crouch. I'm here representing him – Mister Crouch isn't well."

"Oh, that's… too bad," said Potter.

"Very unwell, I'm afraid. Overwork, probably – what with the World Cup and the preparations for the Tournament – and that awful Skeeter woman fluttering about."

Dumbledore said very loudly, "Pork chops!" and pork chops appeared on his plate. The rest of the hall followed his lead.

Hermione looked out over the crowd. Most of the students were talking with each other or eating intently, but she caught sight of a certain blonde Slytherin who was taking an interested in the high table. Hermione chewed her pork triumphantly, leaning over to Potter. "This wasn't such a bad idea, was it?"

"There's still time left," he said, not looking quite as pleased as she was.

Soon, the dinner tables were cleared from the floor and it was time to dance.

"Smile," Hermione reminded Potter as they walked out onto the dancefloor.

"I'm smiling," he said through thin lips.

"You're not selling it," she said, pulling herself closer to him as they rotated. She saw the crowd watching from over his shoulder. She grinned when she noticed Draco was red-faced and staring them down. He saw her looking and grabbed Daphne by her waist, wrenching her onto the dance floor before Hermione rotated away.

"I'm selling it fine," he replied. "You're overdoing it."

"I'm dancing with the Hogwarts champion. There's no overdoing it."

" _A_ Hogwarts champion. And not really the real one."

"You're Harry Potter. _You're_ the Hogwarts champion."

He grumbled and stumbled a bit. "We're done, right?"

The floor was beginning to fill. Hermione let it go one more rotation and, not seeing Draco, called it, too. "We're done for now."

Potter dropped his hands to his side and darted off between dancing couples. Hermione followed him over to a table where a group of Gryffindors were stationed. Ronald and Lavender were both watching Hermione with suspicion. Longbottom and little Virginia were also there, both deciding not to look at Hermione.

"Not going to dance, Ronald?" Hermione said as Potter ladled out a cup of punch.

"I don't know what you're up to, but it's not going to work," said Ronald.

"Okay," replied Hermione.

"It's not."

"Sure. How about you, Longbottom? I see you found yourself a little Weasley."

Virginia turned a spiteful eye to her. "Come on, Neville. I want to dance." She pulled Longbottom away.

"You've got some bang-up friends, Potter."

"Yeah. Would you like to introduce me to yours?" he said, taking a sip of his punch.

Hermione scowled. "I don't think they'd much like that."

"No, I don't think so."

"We're a real Romeo and Juliet," said Hermione.

"Don't they die at the end?"

"They kill themselves."

"Yeah, that's not happening here."

"Oh, now that's just rude," smirked Hermione.

The band changed songs to a decent amount of dancer turnover. Parvati Patil skipped over to their table, leading Dean Thomas by the hand. "Oh, Lav, you've got to get out there!"

"Yeah," said Lavender.

"Did you see Padma? I didn't know she had it in her!" Parvati breathed. "I mean, she may look like me, but she's really not a people person."

"Krum isn't really a people person, either," Hermione said.

Parvati looked at her. "I guess not," she said.

"Granger," Dean nodded to her. "Didn't expect this."

"Nobody expects," she replied, and he smiled a bit.

"Well, Dean and I are going to go say hi to Padma and dance some more." Parvati pulled him off to seek out her sister.

Lavender looked expectantly to Ronald, but he made no move to get up. "I don't get it, Harry," he said. "You could've had any girl in the school, and you pick her?"

"Potter didn't pick me," Hermione seethed. "Like you said, I'm up to something."

"I don't get it, Harry," repeated Ronald.

"Hey, Hermione!" Astoria said, beaming as she bounced up to her and wrapped her arms around her. "Look! Blaise got me this necklace. Isn't it beautiful?"

Hermione hugged her back, but kept her eyes focused on the boy who came to a stop behind her. Blaise Zabini wore a magnificent Italian silk suit and a magnificent smug look on his face. "Granger," he said, and then, with an amused smile, "Potter."

"Zabini," Hermione replied. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Immensely," he half turned, peering out across the dance floor. Theodore Nott was clearly visible, glowering in their direction. Pansy was talking to him, holding his arm, but he didn't really look like he was interested in what she was saying. "Astoria and I have some admirers already."

Beside Nott stood Draco and Daphne. Draco was obvious in his livid stare, but Daphne was also looking over regularly with a grim look. She smiled and pulled Potter to her side. "Harry and I are having a grand time, as well."

"Yes, how did you snag your Romeo?" Blaise said, sliding his hands into his pockets and tilting his head.

"He saw me across the room at a party and knew he just had to forget Virginia," grinned Hermione.

"I thought her name was Rosalie…" Potter said into his punch.

"Rosaline," Blaise said confidently, like he was offering a correct answer and knew it.

"Wherefore art thou Gryffindor," said Hermione.

Blaise grinned. "Good story."

"But he won't kill himself for me," she said.

"He's the Boy-Who-Lived. He has to, you know, live," said Blaise. "As do I. Another dance?" He turned and offered Astoria his hand. She took it with a giggle.

"Come on, Hermione. You should dance, too!"

Hermione glanced at Potter, who shook his head.

"Put your punch down," Hermione said. "We're dancing."

Hermione insisted on switching partners after the first song. Primarily to speak with Blaise, though she was pleasantly surprised by the upgrade in experience.

Dancing with Blaise was… nice. His body was a frame that held her up, his movements guided hers so that Hermione barely had to do anything but comply. He was a much better partner than Potter. He actually knew how to dance. And he made it almost enjoyable.

But she wouldn't be distracted by petty details.

"If you take advantage of Astoria, I'll hurt you."

Blaise spun Hermione around suddenly, then brought her back into his frame. "Rather protective of your rival's sister, no?"

"I don't care whose sister she is, Astoria is my friend."

"I like her too, Granger. We can share."

"I don't like your attitude or your tone. You should just stay away from her."

"You think I'm dangerous to her?"

"She's a second year. You should never have invited her."

"I shouldn't have – but not because she's a second year," he said.

"What do you mean?"

Blaise pulled a shrug with only his head. "My birthday's in August. If I was born a few days later, and she was born a bit earlier, we'd have been in the same year. Not much difference between Astoria and I dancing than you and I dancing. Unless you're taking advantage of me." He narrowed his eyes. "You're not trying to take advantage of me, are you, Granger?"

Hermione frowned. "That's different."

"Maybe. Maybe not. She'd have been here anyway. I am the lesser of the evils, I think you would agree."

"I don't know. Why did you invite a second year?"

Blaise sighed and stopped dancing completely. In the middle of the floor. "Look. If was inviting someone just to try to lift her skirt, Astoria is just about the last girl I'd go for. She's Slytherin, a stick, her sister's an overbearing witch – in every sense of the word – and Astoria would have no idea what she's doing. If I wanted to be caught in a rosebush sometime tonight, I'd be dancing with some sixth year Ravenclaw girl right now. Now, are you done threatening me?"

Blaise took her by the waist and hand again and they were off. "Good. I like dancing with someone of decent height."

"Why a Ravenclaw girl?" she asked on a whim. "The boys always talk about how you're after Hufflepuff girls."

"I am. Everyone just judges my intentions wrong."

"Do they?"

"Sure. You and your crowd think I'm some sort of Casanova, yeah? I hunt Hufflepuffs to get their knickers off?"

"I guess that's the thought."

"Just shows they know nothing about anything outside of Slytherin. Hufflepuffs aren't for a snog. I've got the houses down to a science, you know. Hufflepuffs are for loyal wives and serious girlfriends. Ravenclaws are exploration and innovation. Gryffindors are for passion, and Slytherins make excellent mistresses."

"I see. You're even creepier than I thought."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "I'm not saying I've tested my theories out, but the logic is sound."

"So, according to you, you're looking for a wife?"

"No. I've been sticking my neck out for a girlfriend, though. Someone to have fun with outside the bitter confines of Slytherin. And once you catch a badger, she's not likely to give up on you for some time. I like that."

"But you ended up with a Slytherin here tonight. And one you say you're not interested in making your… mistress."

"Sure. I am interested in Astoria, but not for the reasons you're afraid of."

"Like what?"

"She's a bright girl. Cheerful. Wants to have fun."

"That's it?"

"That's it. I'm a simple man. I like to enjoy myself."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

"Harry, my boy! How has your evening been?"

The jovial, padded figure of Ludo Bagman ambled over to the table they had commandeered. He looked a good few butterbeers deep and had another full mug in his hand.

"It's been fine," said Potter, shrugging.

"Fine? It's been more than fine, Harry! It's a party!"

Potter nodded.

"And you," he turned to Hermione, "I can see how a pretty little thing like you could catch Harry's attention. Well done, my boy, well done."

Hermione instinctively leaned away from him.

"But…" Bagman shuffled closer to Harry and took a peek around and dropped into a whisper. "How've you done with you… _egg_?"

Potter fidgeted. "I've done just fine."

"So you've opened it?" exclaimed Bagman before clamping his hand over his mouth.

"Yes," said Potter in a strained voice.

"And you heard the message?"

"I heard something alright."

"Exemplary!" Bagman chuckled. "Knew you had it in you. You've been working on a plan, then. I suggest you look into -"

"Mister Bagman," Harry said too loudly, "I don't think you're supposed to talk about the tasks to me."

Bagman started, then laughed. "Right you are, Harry! An honest competitor, I love it. I thank you for not taking advantage of my kindness," then he whispered again, "If you do ever need my help, though…"

Potter shook his head, but Bagman only chuckled some more and clapped him on the shoulder.

"I do have one piece of advice for you two lovebirds that doesn't involve mer-peo-uh… the _tournament_ …" he wagged a finger at both of them. "Never trust a goblin with dice."

At that, Ludo Bagman performed a three-hundred and sixty degree turn, surveyed the entire hall, and ducked off behind a fountain of chocolate. Hermione watched him scamper around, weaving between couples, before disappearing out the door.

Off in the distance, Hermione caught sight of Draco and Daphne. His hands were wrapped around her, sliding into more and more delicate areas. Hermione bit her tongue and exhaled a long breath. It had been only one week since those hands had been touching Hermione herself. Only one week, and he was already sniffing around another girl.

"Potter, I think we should move somewhere else. It's getting too hot in here."

Out in the courtyard, a cool breeze swept of them and Hermione felt invigorated. Inside, the ball was suffocating. People watched each other, people had expectations. Out here there were no prying eyes – no weight of expectation.

"This hasn't been so bad, has it?" Hermione asked.

"I suppose it could have gone worse. I didn't get chased by a dragon."

"You decided to attempt to out-fly a dragon," she shook her head.

"It worked, didn't it?" Potter shot back.

"Sheer luck. Something you have in abundance."

"It balances out sheer bad luck," he shrugged. "Wouldn't have to face a dragon if the damn rules actually meant something. Wouldn't have to survive -"

He stopped and exhaled, staring out at the stars. He looked lost. Contemplating his life. And what a life it had been. Hermione couldn't imaging losing her parents before she even knew them. She didn't even know if she had relatives would could have took her in.

"You didn't enter yourself, did you."

"No," he said. "You don't think I'd be stupid enough to want to get killed?"

Hermione rolled her shoulders. "I wanted to enter. Tried to enter."

"I believe it." Potter picked at his sleeve and glanced at her. "You might have won."

She shot him a hard look. "No need to be patronizing."

"I wasn't. I've seen you – you've saved my life, remember. If I made it past that dragon I'd bet you could, too."

"Well, thanks," she said. Hermione couldn't see or hear an indication that he was lying. Did he actually believe that she could have won? Harry Potter, who hated her guts, had more faith in her than her friends? Oh, but were they her friends? And did he really hate her?

Hermione took a deep breath. The night air really was something. The cold sting in her lungs wasn't bad at all, though it was chilly. Hermione wouldn't have said no to a jacket.

"I'm sure choosing a little Gryffindor by lottery would have gotten you more favor than coming with me," she said, not entirely sure where she was going.

"I didn't think of that. But seeing Malfoy's face makes up for it."

Hermione considered him for a moment. He looked at her, and his eyes sparkled in the moonlight. They were so very green. "You know what would make Draco even angrier?"

Before he had a chance to respond, Hermione lunged forward, grabbing his shoulders and pressed her lips against his. His whole body jerked, then stood very still. Hermione held the kiss longer, and, after a moment, felt his hands brush very gently against her sides–

A large, forceful hand gripped Hermione's shoulder and pulled her away from Potter. Hermione stared up into the deadly black eyes of Professor Snape. "Fornication in the Rose Garden?" he hissed through clenched teeth. "Twenty points from Slytherin – and back to your dormitory this minute."

"Professor–" she protested.

"Shut up," Snape growled. "I will not abide such crude behavior from one of my students. Back to the dorms or it'll be fifty points."

Hermione bit her tongue and seethed. "We're allowed out here for the Ball –"

"The Yule Ball takes place in the Great Hall, Miss Granger – and your night is over, regardless. Out!" He struck a quivering finger back towards the entry hall, his face clearly showing that no appeal would be heard. Hermione glared at him before turning on her toes and stomping out of the Rose Garden, heels clicking distinctly. "And you, Potter," Snape barked behind her, "Conning your way into a pathetic tournament gives no right to incite debauchery in this castle–"

Hermione crossed the entry hall quickly. There was no point in returning to the Great Hall without Potter. That was the whole point of the night. Now that Snape fucked everything up, she could only do as he said and go back to the dorms and hope she left a lasting memory.

Weeks ago this was going to be a wonderful night with her friends, boyfriend… best friend. But everything had been fucked up. Not just by Snape. By everyone.

The halls down to the dungeon weren't quite empty. Couples were sneaking around, finding private areas; others were returning to their common rooms having had enough of the Ball. It seemed like many Slytherins had given up on the Ball, too. Hermione walked into the common room to shouts and laughter. Groups of older students were huddled around couches and chairs and Hermione could see bottles being passed around. She bypassed all of them and headed straight to her dorm, but was stopped by a voice.

"Had a good time with Potter, did you?" Pansy sniffed. She was slouched in an armchair, almost laying down. "Took him out back for a bit of a shag, eh?" Her cheeks were glistening and she took pull from a bottle clutched in her hands. Her body convulsed and she put a hand to her mouth, and looked for a second like she was about to vomit.

"You got a problem with me?" Hermione demanded.

"I've got a million problems with you," sneered Pansy. "Mudblood," she spat, holding up a finger. "Stupid. You shagged Draco. You shagged Potter." Pansy looked at her fingers, deciding if she was on four or five. "You're a Mudblood…"

"We've been over this, Pansy," Hermione said coolly. "I'm still better than you."

Pansy's lip quivered for a moment, and then tears began flowing free. "You're a Mudblood and all the boys still want you. What the fuck am I? They should be MINE!" She threw her head back and started downing more of the bottle, but she gagged and it spilled out all over her chin and dribbled down onto her dress.

"Stop it," said Hermione, grabbing the bottle out of her hands. "You're going to get alcohol poisoning."

Pansy sobbed and buried her face in her arms. "Maybe I want to poison myself."

"Shut up. You're not going to get anyone's attention with that rubbish." Hermione took a look at the bottle. 'Ogden's Firewhiskey'. It was half-empty. "You drank all this yourself?"

"Theo only uses me because he got embarrassed," Pansy shuddered and curled up into a ball. She looked pathetic. Defeated. Broken. Like she had when Hermione used the Cruciatus on her. Except this time Hermione didn't enjoy the sight of it. Hermione didn't feel triumphant. "I'm his revenge… his..."

"Then end it," Hermione snorted. "Don't let the bastard get what he wants." Hermione stared down the bottle's neck at the amber liquid swirling inside. It seemed like such inert stuff to cause such a catastrophic reaction in people. Drink a few drops and your senses, your judgment, just go out the window. Why do people subject themselves to it?

"I have to," she cried, peeking out at Hermione. "I just have to."

"He doesn't own you."

"As good as. I know he knows that I have to... he knows I know he knows."

"You're not making any sense," said Hermione. She sniffed the bottled and recoiled. It smelled acidic to her. Toxic. Deadly. Yet… not quite bad. Well, bad, yes. But not that bad. Like she'd need another smell to really make a judgment.

A huge bout of shouting boomed from the other side of the room. Hermione looked over and saw Millicent and Tracey throwing back several shots while a few older boys tried to keep up.

"I told Grandfather – and he's making arrangements."

"Your grandfather knows what?" Hermione peered back down the bottle. A little sip wouldn't hurt, would it? And no one would know. Everyone was too busy to care.

"He knows Theo and I…"

Hermione curled her lip in scorn. "You told your grandfather who you're rubbing yourself against?"

"You don't understand."

"No, I don't." Hermione put the bottle to her lips and tilted it up until a stream splashed into her mouth. She exploded into coughs, barely hacking the liquid down. Her tongue felt like it had been burned, and she felt like a fire had been kindled in her stomach. "This stuff is nasty."

"I need to find someone. I need to, or my family is finished."

"There's a school of someones here. Find someone who isn't a complete asshole." Hermione could feel the blood flowing through her veins. She was aware each heart beat and each finger and toe. "This is weird."

"You don't understand. You couldn't understand. You're a Mudblood."

"A Mudblood who is better than you – and a lot less drunk."

"I'm not drunk," Pansy murmured.

"You people are fucked up, you know that? Thoroughly fucked up." Hermione narrowed her eyes at the bottle. She already had one sip. What was another one? It went down easier this time. Or maybe her tongue was still in shock from the first drink.

"You've got it easy," Pansy said, starting at her through her tears.

"Yeah. My boyfriend drops me for the first pureblood his dad points him at." Hermione took a third sip and felt like her stomach was hosting a bonfire.

"You don't have to do… you're…"

"You'll have to speak better, Pansy," Hermione called. "I don't really know what words you're trying to think. Or… say."

"You've… your family doesn't have a house."

Hermione snorted. "I'm not homeless, you cow."

"You don't have a house," Pansy grunted. "A family house."

"For your information, I live on the second floor of a very nice house."

"It's not your family's." sniffed Pansy. "They haven't lived there for… years. And years. And generations."

"So what?"

"So… it's not your family."

"Your house is your family?"

"No, it is my family."

"That's what I said."

"Parkinsons lived there for… centuries. It is us."

"Yeah? That sounds like a blast. Got a bunch of portraits nagging you all day?"

"We don't have… We can't. Grandfather will leave and… I'll be left. Alone."

Hermione watched her shudder in tears, trying to string together her fragmented sentences. "What about your parents?"

"Dead."

"Oh… sorry, I guess." She considered not caring, but that would be… too cruel. If Hermione could give Potter some empathy for dead parents, she could manage some for Pansy.

"Not dead. One is."

"Are they dead or not?" Hermione tilted the bottle back again. The stinging was a reassuring sensation.

"My mother is."

"And your father?"

"My… father remarried. Badly."

"Badly?"

"I can't… she… if she didn't… Theo isn't interested in that stuff. I should be grateful. I should-"

"You two should be ashamed of yourselves," snapped Daphne. Hermione looked up from her chair. Daphne was red in the face and furious.

"I don't have your pureblood feelings of shame and guilt," Hermione stuck out her tongue.

Pansy cackled through her sobs. "Because she's a Mudblood, get it?"

"It's girls like you who encourage boys to be so – so repugnant!" Daphne cried, seizing the bottle out of Hermione's fingers and taking a drag of the amber liquid. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and glared down at Hermione. "You just had to hump every boy you danced with?"

"Hey –" Hermione sat up straight. "That's my bottle – and I did not hump boys! You're the one stealing boyfriends!"

"For your information, I didn't steal anyone," she hissed. "I spent the whole night keeping Draco away from me because you couldn't keep your hands to yourself!"

"You – you're just a fucking bitch, you know that?" screamed Hermione. "You said you were my friend and… and you're just a backstabbing bitch – and for what? How much silver did he melt down to make that _horrid_ little bracelet? Hope you got your thirty pieces worth!"

Daphne's lip quivered. "I'll be getting a lot more than your single diamond!" She saw tears start to roll down Daphne's cheeks as she turned and sprinted away.

Hermione gaped. "You fucking _whore_!"

Pansy's giggles were muffled by her stuffing her face into the couch cushion.

"What are you laughing at, dog?" Hermione growled at her.

"Whore," mewed Pansy. "Muggles cook in pots, too, right?"

Hermione stared at her, grasping for the bottle of whiskey. "Shit," she said, remembering that her bottle had been stolen. _Not the first, and probably not the last thing Daphne will steal from me_ , she thought. Hermione looked around and stood.

She started to wobble, not ready for how uncertain her legs had become. She had seen her father drink much more that she had and be fully functioning. This was an interesting reaction.

Hermione took it slow, making her way towards the group she saw Millicent with, using each piece of furniture as an island to hop across.

"Hermione," gasped Tracey, intercepting Hermione before she got there. "You're here!" She pulled Hermione into a hug.

She blinked at Tracey's loud exclamation. "Yes. Daphne took my bottle. I was just…"

"Shots?" Tracey shouted. "Shots?"

"Shots?"

"Shots!" Tracey towed her to the table and fumbled with a bottle, eventually pouring the firewhiskey into two small glasses. Tracey shoved one of them into Hermione's hand. "Shots!"

Hermione looked at the shot glass. It didn't look that bad. She put the glass to her lips and threw her head back. It stung a bit but it was fine compared to the bottle. Hermione shook it off and dropped the glass on the table.

Tracey shoved Hermione's shoulder and laughed. "What a fucking champ!"

Hermione murmured something. There was certainly some sort of reaction going on in her stomach. She could feel the heat, but it was a hollow heat. A sensation of warmth wrapped around a coldness.

She propelled herself across the room to her couch, hoping that her momentum forward would keep her from falling over. She didn't fall, but she did overshoot her target, pitching over the back of the couch onto the cushions. Hermione sighed. It could have gone worse. She glanced over at Pansy.

She was still slouched in her seat but Nott had appeared over her and was attempting to get her up.

"She doesn't like you," Hermione smirked.

Nott didn't acknowledge her, but Pansy made a grunt and shook her head. "That's not true!" Nott pulled her onto her feet and she clung to him. "I love you."

Now Hermione noticed that there was someone else. A blond someone else.

The upside-down face of Draco was staring down at her with a frown. "Are you happy now? Had a good time with Potter, then?"

Hermione bared her teeth. "Better than you had with Daphne."

"You know I didn't want to go with her."

"Didn't stop you from feeling her up, now did it?" Hermione tried to roll over to face him correctly but only managed to roll off the couch onto the floor.

"Are you drunk?" he asked, bewildered, maybe a bit angry, but also… impressed? Or maybe the firelight was playing tricks on her.

"I'm not drinking," she said. "I've never drunk and I'm never drunk so don't insulate such a thing."

He smirked a bit. "Do you mean 'insinuate'?"

Hermione took a beat before lifting her chin in defiance from the floor. "I'd never."

"Get up," he shook his head, reaching down to pull her to her feet.

"I'm quite fine where I am," she said, but didn't resist.

"Let's get you to bed."

Hermione took a step forward but stumbled. She only avoided the floor because Draco's arms were around her. "I'm not drunk, just so you know. I'm just feeling a bit faint."

"Sure. Whatever you say."

"I'm always right."

"Yes you are."

Hermione leaned into him and closed her eyes. He wouldn't drop her. Draco wouldn't drop her. She let him walk her down the stairs to the dormitories and guide her around the left turn and down the hall and -

"Wait," Hermione said suddenly, wrenching her eyes open. "Left is the boys dormitory."

"Yeah," Draco said, pulling her along.

"No," muttered Hermione grinding to a halt. "Why?"

"I can't make sure you get into your bed so mine will have to do."

Hermione screwed up her eyebrows and thought for a moment. "No. That won't do at all. I'm going to my room."

"Hermione," Draco said. "You can barely walk on your own. Just sleep in my bed tonight."

"Why… why would I do that? That's… no." She shook her head.

"It'll be fine, Hermione. You've been in my bed before."

"You're not my boyfriend!" she insisted.

"Why not? Give it a chance, Hermione."

"You think - you think you can just… after?"

Draco was giving her that face like she was talking about NEWT level transfiguration and he would never understand a single shred of what she was saying. He didn't understand. "Just sleep on it. You'll feel better in the morning -"

He tried to pull her again but Hermione's arm was swinging. The loud slap of flesh on flesh echoed around the hall. Hermione started at her stinging palm.

"What was that for?" Draco gasped, holding his cheek.

"What do you think it was for?" Hermione breathed. "Go away."

"Hermione -"

She reached for her wand and swung it at him. "Go away!" she screamed in place of a spell and he jumped back as the flames seemed to flicker. He held up his hands and backed away. Hermione watched him retreat into his room before putting her wand away and turning back down the hall.

Hermione felt along the stone wall. Things were a bit out of focus. Sometimes the floor bucked a little. But she followed the wall and found her dormitory. She opened and door and slid inside.

It was dark. She knew where everything should be, where each bed and each trunk would be, but Hermione still bumped into each one in her path. She swore and floundered onto her bed. She unbuckled her shoes after several tries and kicked them into the air.

"Ow!" Someone cried in the darkness. Hermione felt the air rush as one of her shoes sailed past her head. "Now you have to chuck shoes at me?" Daphne hissed.

"No less than you deserve," Hermione muttered.

She heard shuffling in the darkness, and then the next second she felt the soft but unexpected impact of a down pillow smacking her face.

"Ow…" Hermione said, more out of habit than pain. "Bitch." She heard the whooshing of air and anticipated the second blow and block it with her arms, but she missed when she tried to snatch the pillow. Daphne swung again and Hermione was able to intercept and latch on.

Hermione gave the pillow a swift tug but she was not ready for Daphne's counter-pull. She stumbled forward, directly into the girl. Both gave out cries of surprise as they tumbled onto Daphne's bed.

Daphne tried wrenching the pillow from Hermione's arms but Hermione held tightly. She kicked out at the girl but didn't connect. Daphne gave up on the down pillow and Hermione tried to push herself up but Daphne came back with a small, square, decorative pillow and began tomahawking it at Hermione's head."Why - are - you - so - selfish?" she cried with each hit. On the sixth swing, Hermione caught the pillow and twisted violently, dispossessing Daphne.

Daphne lunged down at her and for a second Hermione thought she was going to bite her. Instead, Hermione realized belatedly that Daphne was trying to kiss her. She was pressing her lips against Hermione's with a hurried, awkward intent. It caught her so off guard that she took a few seconds to react.

"Get off me," Hermione hissed, shoving the pillow into Daphne's chest and pushing her away. Daphne froze, looking as shocked as Hermione was. Her cheeks were still glinting from spilt tears. A few seconds went by before Daphne said, very quietly, almost guiltily, "I told you I wasn't interested in Draco…"

Hermione tried to find the words to respond but couldn't. She couldn't quite interpret what had happening.

Daphne averted her eyes. "I wanted to tell you… but…"

"Tell me what?" Hermione breathed, afraid of the answer.

"Just that…that I… might fancy you."

"I don't understand…" said Hermione, shaking her head. Daphne adjusted her position, her leg rubbing against Hermione's.

"You're pretty – and brilliant – and…" she pushed herself forward to Hermione and gave her another quick kiss. "And I do fancy you." Daphne placed a delicate hand on Hermione's shoulder and pressed their lips together again.

Hermione shook her head and pushed Daphne back again, willing herself to sink deeper into the mattress, further from Daphne. "Stop."

This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't right. She could kiss Draco. She could even kiss Potter – but Daphne? That wasn't… she wasn't – and could her heart just stop pulsing so goddamn loudly she couldn't _fucking_ think straight? Everything about this night was screwed up. Draco didn't want her – then Draco wanted her. Daphne hated her – then Daphne fancied her. All Hermione wanted was to know what was going on. She wanted to know where she belonged. But she couldn't think straight. There was a burning in her stomach that she couldn't ignore. It spread through her whole body.

Her body. Daphne was touching her body. Her fingers pulled through Hermione's hair. Hermione could feel Daphne's breath on her neck. Her eyes roved Hermione's face, soaking up every detail.

Daphne hadn't looked at her like this before. Had she? This was new. This was new. It had to be new. They had lived together for four years. This was new. Hermione would have noticed. No one looked at her like that. No one – except Draco. Draco had looked at her like this. Up close. She knew that. Daphne hadn't looked at her like this before. It was the firewhiskey. It was making Daphne do this.

"Hermione?" she whispered. "Are you okay?" Daphne's green eyes stared into Hermione's. Green eyes. Hermione liked green eyes. They were different.

"I'm drunk," said Hermione. That was the answer. The only answer. "You're drunk. We're drunk."

Daphne nodded, keeping eye contact.

"That's why. That's why…"

"I feel this even when I'm not drunk," said Daphne, brushing Hermione's hair away from her face with a finger. "I just… was afraid to tell you." Daphne pushed forward again, mushing their lips together sloppily.

Hermione said the only thing she was certain about. "You're a bad kisser."

Even in the darkness she knew Daphne was blushing. "I'm sorry… I – I've never…"

"You're trying too hard," Hermione said quickly, trying to analyze everything Daphne had done wrong. It made her feel better to make a list and approach it from an objective view. Ignoring Daphne's choice of partner, she didn't really understand the technique. "You are trying to kiss in one dimension, forward and back. Your lips were stiff and your jaw was locked. I'm not an expert but -"

Daphne kissed her again. This time slower, her lips with a bit more give. "How was that?"

Hermione hesitated. It was better, but she wasn't quite sure if it was _good_ or not. It was definitely weird. Daphne felt different than Draco. She smelled different. She kissed different.

But maybe that was better. Maybe that was good.

Or maybe that was the alcohol.

Hermione couldn't decide. It was like the firewhiskey. New. Unknown. Yet… not quite different. Well, different, yes. But not _that_ different. Like she'd need another taste to really make a judgment.

* * *

 **People have been calling this development for some time, so I'm pleased my hints have been landing.**

 **For the record, I've never nailed down this Hermione's sexual orientation in my mind as I write. It's hard for me to say she's straight, lesbian or whatever, because she's never expressed any sexual attraction to anyone in passing - and even with Draco it never seemed to be "he's so hot". I see a lot of Hermione's sexual/romantic cues are more a passive mimicry of what she believes are societal rules than her biological compass (hence her resistance to the idea of a girl but not really the feeling). That this would happen doesn't seem out of place to me.**


	10. Fallout

**Chapter X**

 **Fallout**

Hermione did not want to stir from the warm darkness. She loved the bliss of being on the edge of consciousness, but not quite there. Being able to let her mind wander endlessly and not worrying about anything. Just one jolt of reality would rouse her from this state – one unfortunate movement could break the balance – and she did not wish for it to come for some time. The warm embrace of the sheets, the soft cushion of the pillow under her head, the way Daphne's arms held her body –

Daphne.

Hermione sucked in a desperate breath, eyes popping open. Suddenly, the curtain of semi-consciousness was ripped away, revealing what actually was – that Daphne was in her bed.

No – Hermione was in Daphne's bed.

The memories of the night hit her like a runaway truck. Daphne had – she and Daphne had – no, it didn't happen. Hermione wasn't like that… but wasn't she? It _had_ happened. She remembered it completely. Vividly. The way Daphne's lips had touched her own. How she had explored Hermione's body with those slender fingers – how Hermione had indulged her for some reason…

And now she was fast asleep, head cradled between Hermione's neck and shoulder, arms wrapped around her. Hermione could feel the soft rhythm of her breathing. She remembered Daphne's ragged breath, the feel of her skin, slick with sweat, pushed up against her own – her stifled whines and timid urgings and the way her green eyes had stared at Hermione –

This was _not_ part of Hermione's plans. This was not _any_ part of her plans. This was _not_ supposed to happen.

Hermione pushed herself away from the slumbering Daphne, extracted herself from her arms, and rolled out of the bed so quickly she fell to the floor. Hermione felt the cold air and hard floor on her bare skin. She was naked. Hermione looked around, heart racing. No one was awake. No one saw. No one would know. Good. Good…

Her dress was balled up at the foot of Daphne's bed. Watching carefully so that she did not wake the girl, Hermione reached over her legs and plucked the green silky dress off the bed and backed away. She stashed it in her trunk and pulled out some spare clothes, a towel, and her toiletries. As quick as her feet would take her without making noise, Hermione dashed into the bathroom and started a shower. The water came out steamy. Hermione was scrubbing before the hot pelts hit her body. She lathered herself with soap and rubbed every inch of herself raw – and then washed herself again. If she did it enough times, maybe Hermione would forget. Maybe she would forget the whole night – the whole Yule Ball – the whole year.

It was going to be such a fantastic year for Hermione. She and Draco were going on fine – minus a few hiccups, sure – she was receiving private lessons from Dumbledore, she was going to enter the Tri-Wizard Tournament and prove to everyone that she could be the greatest witch of her century.

And everything had just gone to shit.

Absolute shit.

And Hermione just needed to wash everything away and start from scratch. She still had Dumbledore. She still had… Hermione almost laughed – she had Potter. If she could coach him to victory in the tournament… but it just wasn't the same. It wasn't Hermione winning the damned thing. And adding another unearned triumph to his CV wasn't worth a thousand galleons, really. But throw in Draco's face when he saw Potter and her together… well, maybe.

Things on her romantic front weren't all that dire either. Potter had enjoyed their kiss – or so she believed; Snape had seen to making feedback nonexistent. And while Hermione didn't particularly rate him as a _wizard_ , she couldn't argue that Potter wasn't a decent _person_ underneath the rest of him. Naïve, lucky, pigheaded. Not so much a jerk or an asshole, or not to the degree of other boys she knew. And, besides that, she had succeeded where Draco had failed – if she counted it as a success.

As much as it creeped her out, what she remembered of the previous night wasn't _all_ too bad. Daphne was sweet, she decided. Innocent and eager and sweet. And it was completely different than with Draco. Much less… well, Hermione had felt like Daphne had connected with her more completely. With Draco, Hermione let him take the lead. He was more forward. Daphne didn't know what to do so Hermione, being drunk, and always wanting to share knowledge with those less knowledgeable – and feeling not a bit vulnerable from the night's events – took solace in the girl who welcomed her with open arms – _and legs_ , Hermione thought, but that would be the crude way to put it. And Daphne was _not_ crude.

So, after the fifth scrub, Hermione stopped and just let the hot watch stream down her back. She didn't need to forget. Forgetting was for losers. Forgetting absolved you of failure, error, and any chance of learning from the past. Hermione would not forget. Nor would she forgive. Forgiveness was for those who could not obtain justice. And what was the subject of Hermione's wrath? Alcohol, for one. Hermione had let herself experiment at the worst time and nothing had gone well from that point on. She learned some fucked up things about Pansy she didn't want to know, she made Daphne cry about things that were – possibly – Hermione's own fault, and she came close to Cruciating Draco in the middle of the dorms. And then there was the last indiscretion. Hermione would have never considered kissing Daphne in her right mind, let alone… but all that was passed. And alcohol was off the table for good.

The Great Hall was nearly empty. Only a few students and only the dourest of teachers – namely Vector and Flitwick – had shown up for early breakfast, which Hermione guessed it was. She hadn't taken a look at a clock before leaving. The sky was not yet bright but there were plates of food already on the tables. Not even McGonagall was there, and Hermione had always seen her at an early breakfast.

The Slytherin table, usually one of the more populated at an early hour, was almost completely empty. A few Durmstrang students were sitting together, and, at the far end, Hermione saw Blaise Zabini chewing some toast and talking with Tracey, who was using her hand as a visor and sipping water. Hermione made her way over and sat down next to Tracey.

"Welcome to the world of the living," Blaise greeted her. "Or the newly undead, if we count Davis."

"Shut it," groaned Tracey. "And if you're going to say something, Granger – don't."

Hermione grabbed a plate and started scooping some scrambled eggs and sausages on. "What's with her?"

"She thought she could handle her liquor with the big boys."

"I can," said Tracey. "Just can't keep up with Milicent."

Blaise snickered. "I wonder if you are interested in _why_ dear Miss Davis was playing Dragon Cage with the seventh years?"

"Don't," Tracey muttered.

"Do," said Hermione. Nothing better to distract from her own thoughts than the happenings of others.

"You know who her date was?"

"Our esteemed Heir of Hufflepuff."

"Our very own Heir of Hufflepuff," grinned Blaise. "Right you are, Granger. Five points to Slytherin. She tells me everything was going quite well for a while – until, well, she loosed her famous tongue and gave up some crucial information."

"Crucial information?" asked Hermione, adding some pepper to her eggs. They were far too bland for her liking.

"Indeed. Five points if you can guess what."

"I'll need some hints."

Blaise scratched his chin. "Something about herself."

"She's a gossip."

"Yes, but no. Something specific about her."

"She's a Slytherin and Smith just didn't figure it out until the Ball?"

"Again, yes but no. You're getting closer."

"I can't guess everything about her," said Hermione. "She told him she thought Diggory was quite handsome?"

"I blabbed that I'm a half-blood, okay?" hissed Tracey. "I said something about my damn muggle grandmother and he dropped me like a hatching dragon egg, happy?"

"Immensely," said Blaise, stepping out into the aisle. "Now, I think there's some jam over at Ravenclaw so I'm just going to have a look."

Hermione hummed and took a bite of her sausage, watching Blaise meander around the table. "Could have been worse. You could have four muggle grandparents..."

Tracy snorted. "At least you know what you are. I'm stuck hanging around pureblood circles and being _not quite_ pure enough to get in."

"I can really empathize with your magical upbringing and two fully magical parents being just _not quite_ enough for you," said Hermione, sipping her pumpkin juice.

"Oh, bugger off, Hermione. I'm not going to debate you with a hangover."

"It would be my pleasure to bugger off, but I have a question."

"If its 'Is Blaise an enormous prat?', then yes."

"No, my question was about… someone else."

"Millicent was brought up on whiskey, that's why I lost."

"Okay, but not her. It's about Daphne."

"Look, Hermione, it's not really her fault that her father and Draco's father –"

"No, not about that," Hermione kept an eye on Blaise and checked that no one was nearby. "Has she… ever tried to _kiss_ you?"

Tracey glanced at her sideways. "Did she try to kiss you?"

"I asked first," Hermione said slowly.

She hesitated for a second. "She was drinking, yeah? Daphne gets more physical when she drinks. She likes to touch things."

Hermione watched her carefully. "So she has?"

Tracey squirmed in her seat. "Look, people do silly things when they're drunk. Daphne is more comfortable with people after a drink or two, so what? If she tried something last night, it's best just to forget it, okay? She'd probably be embarrassed if you said anything."

"That's what I thought," said Hermione.

"Okay. I need to go back to bed now, or I'll die from this headache."

Blaise returned to the table with a slab of bread lathered in jam. A mischievous grin played across his face. "So how was _your_ night, Granger?"

"Not much of your business."

"Seemed like I was the only sober person older than third year when I got back. Saw some interesting things." He took a bite of his toast. "Heard some interesting things, too."

"You can never trust a drunk person."

"Oh, you might be surprised," he shrugged. "I think I can put together a pretty picture."

"Do try."

"Well, you left the Ball not long after we danced – very pleasant, by the way. Your technique was," he made a face, "not up to scratch, but I found it enjoyable nonetheless. So you left, and I don't believe I saw your Potter there, either, so you probably took him out somewhere private. Or you wanted someone to think that. Maybe the Rose Garden. Saw a lot of traffic there. How am I doing?"

"You saw me walk out and are drawing obvious conclusions."

"So there you were with Potter – maybe in a bush, I don't know the details – but I don't think it went all that well for you. I'm not sure exactly which way was wrong, but it went that way because you were back in the common room soon thereafter."

"You have eyes in the walls?" Hermione sighed. "Anyone could have seen me in the common room."

Blaise grinned. "Yes, all curled up with Pansy sucking on a bottle of Firewhiskey. Had a bit of a row with Daphne and Draco, too, I hear. Whole common room saw that."

"Now you're just recounting what other people told you."

"That's the point. I hear these things, Granger. Daphne ran off crying with a bottle, Draco came in and you two nearly shagged then nearly dueled – proper excitement that, wish I had seen it."

"Creep."

"So you'd been drinking, yelling, maybe crying. You made Daphne yell and cry – not a very easy thing to do – and you nearly took Draco's head off. Eventful. Stressful. And Potter did something to make you upset, too."

"You're reaching."

"I don't think so. Because I heard not long ago the real cherry on top – Miss Granger wasn't in her bed last night."

Hermione looked up at him. "Excuse me?"

"I said you weren't in your own bed last night. Which begs the question, where were you? I was up early. I found some people sleeping in the common room, not many, but a few, and you weren't one of them. So you weren't in your bed, weren't in the common room. That meant that you had to be somewhere else."

"Where did you hear that I wasn't in my bed?"

"Sources."

"Tracey?"

He had a sly smile on his face.

"She was drunk – and probably still is drunk."

"Doesn't matter, she can use her eyes."

"Why are you so interested in this?"

"It's intriguing to speculate."

"Speculate all you like; you're grasping at straws for some sort of… I don't know, revelation or something."

"I think one of us bedded a Greengrass girl," he said softly. "And I had mine stowed away before midnight, gentleman that I am. Didn't let her take one sip of that whiskey. That would have been irresponsible… something might have happened. She might have gotten… _touchy_." Blaise was grinning wide now, and Hermione's heart was beating fast. He _was_ grasping at straws, surely?

"I don't understand how you leapt to that conclusion, Zabini," she said coolly. "What makes you think that Daphne and I – that something like that would _ever_ happen?"

"It's hard to see from the inside, I suppose," he said, leaning back.

"Inside of what?"

"I'm guessing that you didn't have advanced warning that Draco was interested in you, hmm? You don't seem like the type to pick up on that sort of thing. Faces and words on the air are so much harder to understand than ink on paper."

"I – " Hermione took a moment. Had she seen Draco coming? Well, she had known he liked her. He was her friend. Best friend. Best friends like each other. That was normal, right? How could they _not_ like each other? But it was still a surprise to her when… "I don't see how that matters."

"Draco was obvious, and you didn't realize he wanted you. Daphne has a sense of subtlety, so of course she'd be able to keep it hushed. But anyone with a critical eye and a fondness for watching people – such as myself – could see it. Do you know how much she looks at you? Every meal she spends a good five minutes glancing at you when you're not looking. Or how she looks at girls in general? It's like boys that aren't in her face don't exist."

"Maybe she doesn't like you boys because you're so _annoying_ ," shot Hermione.

"We are like an itch. Annoying, but _oh so good_ to scratch. Daphne never scratches."

"Daphne knows that scratching makes bug bites worse."

"You're stretching the metaphor, Granger. She also loves Quidditch, right?"

"So does Tracey." Hermione shrugged.

"And Tracey loves Krum."

"Yeah?"

"She drools over him."

"I know."

"Does Daphne?"

"Of course – she doesn't _drool_ but…"

"Does she?" he raised his eyebrows. "I recall her being more interested in the cut of the Beauxbaton girls' uniforms than having Victor Krum in the castle."

"So she likes fashion –"

"Her eyes are glued to Delacour every time she walks by."

"She's a champion – "

"And insanely fit."

"You'd think so."

" _Che bella_. And so does Daphne."

"You're putting words into her mouth."

"It's easy because her mouth is always hanging open for Delacour. I'll give you two guesses where she was looking for most of last night."

"Up your ass and shut up."

Blaise chuckled. "La mademoiselle Delacour and you, dear Granger. Now, Delacour is circumstantial – most everyone took a look at her, she looked bloody good. Girls took a look, too. But why did she watch you?'

"I was flashy. I made an impression. Just like I wanted to."

"If you say so. But Draco was staring at you most the night, too."

"I should hope so."

"You don't get it. Nott spent the night glaring at Astoria and I. What did Pansy do? She tried to get his attention. Had to drag him out of view of us. Daphne was staring at you along with Draco. Not an ounce of effort to get his attention. Why would she allow her date to broadcast his affections that blatantly, as odd as they are?"

"Odd?"

"Considering the circumstances."

"Draco didn't treat her very well."

"Nott didn't treat Pansy very well."

"Daphne isn't in her position."

"Daphne wasn't _letting_ Draco pine for you. She was joining him."

"You don't really know what you're talking about."

"That's for a higher power to decide. But what I know for a fact is that both Draco and Daphne fancy you; you weren't in your bed last night; Draco was in his own, alone."

"Yeah? What if I snuck into Hufflepuff and shagged Smith?"

"You were drinking. Daphne was drinking. As much as Tracey tries to hide it, when Daphne drinks… well, it's a different Daphne. I've seen it. It all makes sense."

"Except for one thing, Zabini. Why would I consent to whatever you're implying?"

"Well, I have my thoughts. Want to hear them?"

"I actually don't. It was rhetorical."

"I think that after being rejected by both Draco and Potter, you just wanted a snuggle buddy, and you could do _a lot_ worse than Daphne."

"I don't think so," she said quickly. She knew blood was rising to her face.

"Maybe you wanted to take a break from boys?"

"No," scoffed Hermione.

"Maybe you were too drunk to realize she wasn't Draco…"

"You're making things up now."

"I know, but, as I said, it's intriguing to speculate. Perhaps you were always curious about that slender, pale body. I really don't know what goes on in those rooms you girls have. I've heard stories," he grinned. "But I wasn't sure if they were true."

"You've got it all wrong – and if you start talking, I'll make sure you pay for it."

"I'm not going to tell anyone, Granger. I'm just happy to have figured it out so quickly. I really impressed myself."

"You figured out nothing. It didn't happen."

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks."

"The knave doth proclaim too much."

"I had fun dancing with you, _principessa_."

Hermione made a face. "I had fun threatening you."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"You really should be."

"I think you only attack your enemies, and I am not your enemy."

"I can make an exception."

"It wouldn't be wise. I know spells in Italian that would knock your socks off. No – really. We Italians have very good spells for disrobing."

"And I have some Latin to put you in the hospital wing for a month."

"Italian is a _romance_ language, Granger. The language of fiery passion. I can put you in hospital for a year – but I would really rather you bruise my toes while I teach you to dance for real than bruise your ego so much you wouldn't show your face around here again."

"I really don't understand you people."

"Italians?"

"Purebloods. Wizards. Foreigners. The lot of you."

"We're so complicated and yet so very simple people. Enjoy your holiday, get some rest while you can."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You got involved with the tournament, Granger. Revenge is sweet, but what price will you pay for it?"

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

The chilly winter air calmed Hermione down. On top of everything, _Blaise Zabini_ had – inexplicably – figured it out. He probably figured it out even before Hermione did. And how? A few words from Tracey and some creepy snooping? Hermione had definitely underestimated him. Maybe he was shunted to the side of Slytherin for the very same reasons Hermione should have been watching him. He wasn't an amateur.

She had barely been outside for a minute before regretting walking around without a coat. Or a full fur blanket. But retrieving one would mean going back to her room when people were waking up – when Daphne was waking up – and Hermione didn't want to deal with that. She'd rather freeze before dealing with that. A very possible situation, now that she thought about it.

The bridge over to the grounds was blasted by a gust of icy wind and Hermione thought her face was going to be sheared off. She stuck her hands into her armpits and kept going. The grassy hills on the other side were hard and frozen, but the path down to the forest and lake was covered in salt and sawdust. Probably Hagrid's doing, and for once she thought that he might deserve a thank you note. Or she might pop by his cabin. It wasn't far now.

Except it really was freezing out and if she stayed out any long she'd probably have a cold for the rest of the holiday, or worse. And that really wasn't ideal, so Hermione turned back and trudged up the hill. Halfway up, she saw a bundled up figure crawling around the hillside. Hermione slowed as she neared.

It was a girl, Hermione saw, picking at the frozen ground with a stick. Bright blonde hair was sticking out from beneath a knitted hat and a thick blue scarf.

"Luna?" Hermione called, and the girl looked up.

"Oh, hello Hermione," she responded, waving.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Luna tilted her head and smiled. "Looking for Bubberdocks. They hibernate for months, but it's so cold that they wake up and need to bask in the sun's first rays to warm up. I haven't found one yet, but I've seen some promising signs."

Hermione hugged herself tighter as a gust of wind pulled at her hair. "Uh huh."

"It looks like you need a good bask, too," Luna said serenely.

"Yes, I, uh… forgot it was winter."

The blonde girl nodded. "That happens to me sometimes." Hermione couldn't tell if she was mocking or not.

"Well, I'm going back in. Are you… you should come in, too."

Luna blinked and looked around, seeming to notice for the first time she was sitting on an icy slope out on the Hogwarts grounds before breakfast. "I've probably missed the first rays, anyway." She stood and began walking up the path towards the castle with Hermione.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Hermione asked, "What are, er, Bubberdocks? I've never heard of them."

"I suppose they're most closely related to bears."

"Bears?"

"Big, furry, cuddly, things."

"I know what bears are."

"I didn't know if Muggles had them," Luna shrugged.

"They do. How are they like bears?"

"Well, they're furry and cuddly, but not so big. Quite small, actually. They burrow into the ground and love to sleep."

"I see…" Hermione glanced at her. Luna was a nice girl; Hermione had always thought so. A bit bonkers, though.

"Do you want my scarf?" Luna asked.

"What?"

"It's wrackspurt-free, if you're worried."

"Oh, sure, I guess. Thanks."

Luna unraveled it from her neck and handed it to Hermione. It was warm and soft and fuzzy and made the walk back bearable.

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

The first class of the term was potions with the Gryffindors. Except the problem wasn't the Gryffindors, it was that Hermione had to be in a class with the Slytherins. Pansy had gained confidence over the holidays and was always with Nott. Hermione guessed, right or wrong, that Pansy was fairly immune to her intimidation when Nott was around. Hermione didn't want to test it and escalate the situation. If she stepped out of line, there was always the private confines of their room.

Draco was worse, though. He wouldn't say anything to her, he would just stare. Somewhere between hurt and hate. It was awful and she couldn't stand it. Why was he angry with her? _He_ was the asshole who made everything crash and burn. _She_ was angry with him. She should be glaring at _him_. But then they'd both be staring at each other and it would devolve into some weird contest and he would win because he had no shame and Hermione had better things to do.

Like shamelessly ignoring Daphne. Because Hermione didn't know what else to do. They slept five feet apart, shared the same bathroom, desk, dining table, and class schedule, and what had happened was _incredibly_ unnerving for Hermione. She wanted to believe Tracey's story – Daphne was drunk and wanted to forget it – she really did – but she also remembered what Blaise had said and Hermione kept a peripheral eye on her. Daphne did look at Hermione. A lot. More than she had ever noticed. They were small glances. Eyes lingering a bit long. Nothing as blatant as Draco's glare. But they were many and now that Hermione had noticed them she couldn't stop seeing them.

On top of that, Daphne didn't seem guilty she got a bit… presumptuous. She looked embarrassed, yet… hopeful. Every time Daphne glanced up and saw Hermione looking back, her face would rise, and she would start to say something, and then stop. And Hermione wouldn't let her start again because she would get as far away as possible. Now, Hermione decided, the best action was to completely ignore her. Because things couldn't be awkward if interaction was nonexistent. A perfect solution.

But now classes were beginning again and there was a possibility that she and Daphne would be academically bound to _speak_ to each other, let alone sit next to each other. Unfortunately, the only seat left on the Slytherin side of the classroom _was_ the one directly next to Daphne. _Of course_. She probably set that up on purpose. _The bitch_.

Hermione wasn't going to get caught out by Daphne's tactics. Oh, no. She had her own tricks. The Gryffindor side – being several weeks removed from facing Professor Snape and gaining a small modicum of bravery– had yet to completely settle down. Potter and Weasley were at their own table, but Ronald was kneeling on the floor searching through his bag – no doubt having forgotten his potions supplies. Hermione deftly stepped around him and slid into his intended chair.

"Uh, Granger," Potter said. "I think you've got the wrong seat."

Weasley stood up violently. "Hey, look here –"

Hermione shook her head serenely as Professor Snape swept into the classroom. "I think you have about five seconds before you get detention," she said pleasantly to Ronald. "There's a chair over there. Don't worry, Greengrass doesn't bite hard." Hermione cursed herself for saying that, the sensation of Daphne's mouth flashing uncalled into her mind.

Ronald was red in the face, about to say something very loudly when the sounds of chalk against board came from the front of the classroom. Snape was peering into the textbook while guiding the writing. He would look up in a moment to see Weasley standing like an idiot in the center of the room. Perhaps the years at Hogwarts _had_ been a help to Ronald, because he did not make a scene, but stomped over to the Slytherin side in a huff and slumped down next to a rather wary Daphne.

"What do you want, Granger?" Potter said under his breath as they began their preparations.

"I'd like to offer my help to you. For the Tournament."

"I don't need help –"

"This isn't like Bagman. There's nothing that says you can't get help from another student. You don't think that the others aren't getting help from their friends, do you?"

Potter frowned. "You just sent _my_ _friend_ away."

"Who, Ronald? You think _he'd_ be help? If you want to get your leg bitten, then I guess he could teach you…"

"If you're trying to convince me, insulting Ron isn't the way to do it."

"I can joke, can't I? I _did_ save him, after all. Which makes me qualified to help _you_."

"Look, thanks for the offer, but I'd rather do this myself."

"You're very stupid, aren't you? You could die if you try this on your own. You're just not that good at magic."

"Gee, thanks, Granger."

Hermione sighed. "Not like that. I mean, compared to Krum and Fleur… they are, what, four years older than you? That means they have double the training that you have. They knew that they were entering and they had a plan. Luck isn't going to get you through this."

"I'd rather go on my own merits."

"Having allies is a merit."

"Not when I'm not sure why they're helping me."

"Is that it?"

"Not all of it, but, yeah. You've never missed a chance to stick it to me."

"Not true. I helped with the diary…"

"Who seemed to know you. Don't think I missed that. Or when Parvati had a strange wand and thought I was the heir of Slytherin. And then – "

"Okay, I'll admit that I've been rather… competitive. And…"

"Made mistakes?"

"I wouldn't say that."

"Then what did you do to Ginny?"

"I – I…" Hermione grasped for the right words. "You would've been _dead_ –"

"That doesn't make what you tried to do okay!"

"It was the _right_ thing to do. It – you don't know – what if he –"

"Just admit you make mistakes."

"Yeah? Maybe I do," she hissed. "But I remember you _liked_ the one I made in the Rose Garden."

Potter recoiled, flushed. "That? I – that's not what I'm talking about."

They were interrupted by a deep rumbling. Professor Snape was staring down into their cauldron. "Inept. Amateurish. Unsalvageable." With a wave of his wand, he vanished the potion. "You both receive a zero for today. I expected... _more_ from you, Granger."

Hermione stared after him. "A _zero_?"

"Figures," sighed Potter.

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

Blaise cleared high throat loudly as he slid up to Hermione at the breakfast table. He planted a pristine edition of the Daily Prophet in front of her. "At least she doesn't knock your dancing," he said, pulling a wry smile as he got up and left.

She looked down at the newspaper. A large, moving image of Harry Potter holding up the golden egg from the first task was plastered to the front cover under the headline **Potter Used as Proxy?** _Hogwarts Champion victim of revenge plot, by Rita Skeeter._

 _This past Christmas evening, Hogwarts School hosted the historic Yule Ball, a school wide dance led by the champions of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. It is a time for joy and fun for the students participating, especially for the champions. A time to relax and enjoy the company of their companions before the hard preparation for the second and third tasks. Harry Potter, the young Hogwarts Champion, famously known as the Boy-Who-Lived, was surely expecting to have the pleasure of a pretty and well-mannered girl who adored him. He was, however, deceived._

 _Harry Potter seems to have been the victim of a plot by a jealous and unstable girl who had caught his eye. This girl's name is Hermione Granger. She is a fourth year Muggle-born student in the Slytherin House. Multiple reports have alluded to the fact that she is well known to the school as a haughty, patronizing, and devious girl, and does not share in the admiration that Harry Potter receives from the student body. So how has Mister Potter fallen under her spell? Perhaps her top marks and her comely, if rustic, looks have fooled him – as they might have fooled me if some upstanding citizens had not come to me directly to expose her sinister motives._

 _Sources close to the girl have alerted me to the fact that, until recently, she had been under the belief that she was engaged in a romantic relationship with her classmate and star student, Draco Malfoy. Several Slytherin student have reported to me that Miss Granger held this delusion for many months despite clear signs to the contrary. In fact, Draco Malfoy has been in a relationship with one Daphne Greengrass since attending the Quidditch World Cup together in August. Mister Malfoy had made his affections for Miss Greengrass clear to Miss Granger on a number of occasions and sook to dispel any notions in her mind that they were a couple. Apparently his efforts were in vain, and Miss Granger only realized her mistake when he did not invite her to the Yule Ball._

 _It has been many years since I was in the Hogwarts dormitories myself, and I could have overlooked Miss Granger's unfortunate presumptions as the odd happenings of a teenager's mind were it not for the clinically cruel actions she took following her realization. She immediately began plotting to attack Mister Malfoy's reputation and decided to play upon the affections of the unsuspecting Mister Potter._

 _Mister Malfoy is the star Seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch team, and nemesis of Gryffindor Seeker, Harry Potter. They share a benign, if sometimes belligerent, rivalry on the Quidditch pitch and a healthy competition in class. Miss Granger targeted Mister Potter in a devious move to use the Hogwarts Champion to seed envy and jealousy in her desired partner and drive a wedge between Mister Malfoy and Miss Greengrass._

 _Miss Granger took it upon herself to charm Mister Potter into accepting her as his date to the Yule Ball, and thereafter spent the night displaying exhibitionist behavior for all the school to see, directed at the poor Slytherin couple, who had to endure her harassment and attention._

 _As an avid fan of Hogwarts School and the Tri-Wizard Tournament, I am dismayed that anyone would disgrace both institutions with behavior such as this, even more so when she does it by manipulating an already emotionally frail boy with such weight upon his shoulders. Harry Potter is the Hogwarts Champion and harlots such as Miss Granger should not have any contact with him as he prepares to represent his school and nation on the world stage. I hope that Mister Potter's friends and guardians can help him see the light. However, Miss Granger has been seen with and around Mister Potter at the start of term, indicating that he has not ended their relationship._

 _All is not lost, though, dear reader. Miss Granger did not achieve of her goal. I spoke to Draco Malfoy over the holidays and he informed me that, in the days since Miss Granger's stunt, his devotion to Miss Greengrass has only grown stronger._

"Don't listen to her," Astoria said, appearing on the other side of the table. "She's full of herself."

Hermione glanced up at her, feeling the rage boiling inside but not letting any of it show. She folded the paper up nicely and held a corner over a candle until the pages began combusting. "Envy and jealousy are synonyms."

* * *

 **Ahh... well, I've been gone for quite some time. I kept meaning to post/finish working on MMIV, but other things got in the way. The 200k works I cranked out in less than a year was the largest chunk of writing I've ever done, and I guess I burnt myself out, both on writing and planning the story. My mind got caught on other projects, fanfic and original alike. Every time I tried to sit down with MM I was whisked away to a fresh idea. It isn't that this story doesn't excite me anymore, but I had spent so much time with it I needed a break.**

 **I've taken a look back at how I went about developing MM, and I would change things, I think, if I were to do it again. I started writing it as a hobby - proof that I could write something - and only recently I've started to think seriously about writing and story telling. I think the story, at its core, is still good, and the themes and motifs I'm trying to set up are very interesting - at least to me - but in regards to plot and characters, I was going on instinct without a fantastic plan to follow. Following JK's year-a-book structure was probably a mistake. This is book "4", and we aren't even onto the bulk of the story I want to tell.**

 **I don't know about you guys, but I get bogged down in the little sand traps in a story, the chapters were we might learn something important but its hidden in a blanket of _meh_. They're the logcial continuation of the story, but are they _really_ necessary? Like, do I show the second task? It's a big event, but not particularly interesting from Hermione's perspective. Showing Hermione and Daphne's awkwardness might be better than telling it, but is it _really_ necessary? It boils down to a couple of teenage girls doing the classic teenager bumbling around. Do I show scenes in classrooms where Hermione learns something that she'll need later, but isn't so integral that it can't just be assumed that she knows? I don't want to spew out a Defense lesson from fake!Moody, but it could potentially add something to the story. Something you could probably live without, but something nonetheless. These little "filler" scenes are hard for me to get past. They bridge other, more important events, but I can't find the character momentum, a reason the characters are committed to being there, which makes the scenes hard to write compellingly, and therefore hard for me to write it at all.**

 **Which brings me back to craft. Had I worked the plot out properly, maybe I could have avoided these sunk chapters. Added in interesting conflict into each scene, like there should be. But now I'm down to cutting the chapters. This was chapter 12 in my outline, now it is 10. And there are more cuts planned. Hopefully I'll be able to finish up MMIV before summer. I have 4 more chapters just about finished, with 5 needing to be written.**

 **So, apologies for the massive delay. I can't promise that MMV will immediately follow MMIV, but I'm committed to at least getting MMIV down in stone by the summer. Hopefully getting to the big 'reversal' of the story will inspire me to push on.**


	11. Golden Egg

**Chapter XI**

 **Golden Egg**

Hermione had received so many letters she almost didn't see Dumbledore's note. She had stopped opening the envelopes after the fifth death threat. It wasn't that she was afraid of them – most spelled her name wrong, anyway. As if _Hermione_ was such an odd name – Shakespeare _and_ Homer used it. _Plebeians_. Plebeian _wizards_. If they couldn't spell her name she had no doubt that they were the type of wizard to try to kill her with the jelly-leg curse. _Amateur_ plebeians.

No, she stopped because they were so _tiring_. And _infuriating_. The sheer ignorance and self-righteous anger that seeped out of their words made Hermione cringe. These were supposedly witches and wizards _educated_ at Hogwarts. But she supposed that the readership matched the authorship.

Dumbledore scheduled another meeting for Sunday night. Finally, a time to forget all of her social problems and focus on herself. Well, focus on someone else – just not the petty entanglements she had gotten herself into. She just had to get through her Friday classes and the Hogsmeade trip tomorrow.

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

Hermione dipped her toe into the pool. The water was warm, so she sat down on the edge and dangled her legs in. She hadn't been in a pool for a long time. A very long time. Her parents made her learn to swim, of course, but it was never anything Hermione got excited about.

Potter walked up and quickly jumped into the pool, holding the egg at the perfect height to preclude Hermione's vision of his trousers – or lack thereof. As if Hermione _wanted_ to catch a glimpse. But he was shirtless and couldn't cover that up. His chest was pale and flat and not too different from Draco's. Hermione felt a pang in her heart. She was conflicted as to whether it was a good pang or a bad pang - or what even a pang was, exactly - but it was the only description that fit.

"You're not getting in?" he asked.

An amused smile played across Hermione's lips. "Are you asking me to get undressed?"

"No," he said quickly, blushing. Though he summoned the gall to be rude and blunt often, Hermione had never seen him to be _forward._ At least, not in the way she expected boys to be. Draco would worm his way into her arms and insist on kissing her. Blaise had that mischievous grin and his fancy turn of phrase, implying his meaning without divulging anything of substance. Potter just didn't have their... confidence. "I was just… I'll just open the egg." He fumbled with the latch and the shell broke into four segments. The room echoed with a deafening wail, causing Potter to drop the egg and cover his ears. The moment the tip of the egg fell beneath the surface, the wailing dulled to a low, soft melody.

The egg sat on the bottom of the pool, rippling waves making it look like it was swaying. Potter looked at it a second. "I guess Cedric was on to something." He sucked in a breath and plunged underneath for a minute. He surfaced with a splutter. "Huh. I'm not sure…"

"What did it say?" she asked, reaching for a quill and paper.

"Uh… 'Come seek us down here… below the ground? We've taken something…'"

Hermione flicked her leg out, sending a spray of water at him. "I can't hear it from up here and if I don't know what it says, I can't help you, you know… not die."

Potter wiped his soaked hair out of his face and splashed back at her. "You want to jump in here and listen to it yourself?"

"Water and paper don't mix, Potter. Go down and get me an accurate transcript."

He grimaced, but submerged himself again. He had to take four more dives to get it right to Hermione's standard. It all sounded a bit melodramatic. "' _Taken what you'll sorely miss_ …'" she repeated. "I'd miss my wand."

"I'm not letting them take my wand," Potter said immediately, wading over to the edge she was sitting on and placing the egg next to her.

"You have to retrieve something. And probably from the lake."

"It's the middle of winter. They won't make me go into a freezing lake."

Hermione sighed. "No, they're going to make you do a lap in this pool. Come on, Potter, you're a wizard. You can handle freezing water."

"I'm not even supposed to be in this damned thing."

"I wasn't supposed to be in the Chamber of Secrets," she said.

"No," he replied, looking up at her. "You weren't." His green eyes were really something.

"But things happen and we have to deal with them," Hermione said quickly. "Are we going to win or are we going to throw a pity party?"

Potter shrugged. He leaned against the pool wall and floated there, staring out at the waves his feet made. "I could do with a party."

Hermione carefully set her quill and paper away from the edge and slipped into the water. The warm water made her squirm with pleasure and her skirt floated on the surface. She might have been embarrassed had there been anyone else there. "Tell me, Harry," she said, pulling herself next to him, "What are you going to sorely miss?" Hermione leaned in and kissed him lightly. "Who would you miss most?" She kissed him harder now, and brushed his lip with her tongue. She ran her fingers through his sopping wet hair and swung her leg around so she straddled him.

"Malfoy isn't here, Granger," he said, pulling back a bit.

"I know," she said with a coy smile. It had been for show in Hogsmeade. Now there wasn't an audience. Just the two of them.

"Look," he pushed back when she went in for another kiss, "It's one thing to act like this to get Malfoy to react, but you have to stop pretending."

"Stop?" Hermione snorted.

"Yeah. You aren't my girlfriend. You're doing this to get back at Malfoy."

"What do you care? You've got an actual girl in a pool with you, alone, kissing you. Don't you like kissing me?"

"Sure, but… you're doing this because you want to – I mean, you're not here because you want to kiss me… what I'm trying to say is that…"

"You're not into boys, are you?" Hermione frowned.

"What?" he sputtered. "No. No!"

"Because that's okay, I guess. Apparently I'm not good at noticing what people like…"

"No – is that why you and Malfoy…?"

"What? No!" Hermione gasped. "There were circumstances - and - it's none of your business."

"Okay. Good, it's a no for everyone, then." Potter reached for a towel on the floor. "We can pack up and –"

"You're not _really_ saying no to this?" Hermione asked, pulling him back. "I'm throwing myself at you."

"Look, Granger, it's just… even if I thought you were a hundred percent sincere about fancying me and you actually wanted to go out, I'm still not sure I would. That I know you're only here because Malfoy upgraded makes this a much easier decision."

Hermione bit her lip and looked off over his shoulder. Oh, he had gall alright.

"You're smart and… pretty, I guess – and good at magic, too, but, regardless of what you think of him now, you were squarely on Malfoy's side for years. They never liked me, and I'm not entirely sure that you like me, either. It's just like we said – Romeo and Juliet without the plot. We're on opposite sides and… that's it. There's no story between us. If you can help me out, I'm willing to go along with whatever you want to do out there, but it's not going to be anything more than that."

"I see." Hermione said flatly. So it was like this, then. Confidence had nothing to do with it.

She lifted herself out of the pool with a whoosh of water.

"I'm not trying to be mean or anything."

"No, I get it. I get why the most famous boy in Britain doesn't have a girlfriend." She grabbed her wand in her dripping hand and performed a drying spell, wicking all of the water out of her clothes before banishing it directly in Potter's face. "He's just _so_ very good with his words."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

Daphne was on her bed, propped up by her pillows and reading from a book. She raised her eyes to meet Hermione's, then glanced back down.

Hermione was done with this cat and mouse. If people wanted to screw with her - if they wanted to mess with her feelings, she wasn't going to take it laying down. She took the three steps across to Daphne's bed, swatted the book away and grabbed Daphne by her bony little shoulders. Hermione seized her lips in a rough, passionless kiss and then shoved her away.

" _That_ happened. What the hell was it?" Hermione hissed at her. "What the fuck was it all about?"

"Hermione…" Daphne said, pressing her fingers to her lips, blood rising in her face, "I…"

"I want to know what kind of person _does_ that."

"Does what?"

" _I told you I'm not interested in Draco_ ," Hermione mimed. " _I like you, Hermione. I like you when I'm not drunk_."

"I –"

"Real nice, Daphne. Real _fucking_ nice. Because that was _exactly_ what I needed that night. I really needed you to steal my boyfriend, wait until I got drunk and just _fuck_ with me like that."

"I wasn't –"

"Do you know how much this has messed me up? Of course you do. You never stop watching me. You _sleep_ five feet away from me. Of course you know."

"Hermione, I didn't do it to hurt you."

"No? You thought you'd just come in and take Draco from me and then smooth it over when I couldn't control myself?"

Daphne shook her head.

"You're a real good friend, you know that, Daphne? Real good. You _told_ me you didn't want Draco. You _told_ me that you wanted to be friends. How could you do this to your _friend_? Is it because you're some pureblood goddess who can trample all the lowly humans she wants? You're entitled to anything and everything you want? I just can't fathom the sheer selfishness you had to buck up to pull this off. Not only did you betray me, you had the gall to show up that night and pressure me into pleasuring you? Do you think I'm just a slave to do your bidding? Keep your boy warmed up and your bed warmer? You're the most stuck up, selfish, entitled little bitch I have _ever_ met."

"Are you done?" asked Daphne stiffly.

"Am I done? Oh, are _you_ done? Do you want to take my wand, too, princess? Should I lay on the floor so you can step off your bed every morning without touching the floor?"

"I understand that things have been tough," she said slowly, like Hermione was a child in the middle of a tantrum - not even having the decency to look at Hermione. "But I never meant to hurt you in any way."

"The road to hell is paved –"

"I would never hurt you if I had a choice. I told you that I wasn't interested in Draco, and I was telling the truth."

"Yeah, you just wanted me for yourself, huh?"

"I don't want Draco, but our parents have their own ideas."

"And what happened to your choice?"

Daphne sat up, hugging a knee to her chest. "There was only ever one option."

"I've met your parents. They wouldn't make you do anything you didn't want."

"They were setting me up with Draco. I didn't want that."

"Yet here we are."

Daphne finally turned her eyes to Hermione. She didn't see any malice in there, but Daphne was excellent at hiding her true feelings - at lying to Hermione. "They were also setting Astoria up. With Theodore Nott."

Hermione wavered. Momentarily. "Astoria? With Nott? No, that's not true."

"Yes, it is. His father was pushing to make it official. But I couldn't allow that to happen. You've seen Nott, and he's usually on his best behavior. I couldn't let Astoria… I had to, Hermione."

"Had to what?"

"My father wants connections. Stability. A match. My father preferred both of us, but he could settle for one. If I committed to his choice, Astoria didn't need to. If I consented to Draco, I could get Astoria away from Theo."

"You set Blaise up," Hermione said slowly, pieces falling into place. "You set him and Astoria up. It was your idea." Part of her bristled at Daphne pushing her sister to Blaise. Part of her respected Daphne a bit more.

Daphne nodded. "If Astoria went with someone else to the Ball, well, that didn't really change anything – not if Theo's behavior was acceptable. But I knew he would react… _adversely_. Once he started in with Pansy, Astoria had enough reason to reject him."

"Except now your daddy is down one match."

"Except now my father was down one match. I had no choice."

"You always have a choice." With Astoria in the clear, Daphne had no reason to continue the charade. Yet she did.

"Then I chose my family," Daphne said.

"You chose to betray me," shot Hermione.

"I'd do it again, too," she said firmly, shaking her head. "I'd betray you every time, Hermione. My family comes first. Astoria comes first."

Hermione glared at her.

"That doesn't mean that I wasn't being honest with you, Hermione. I don't want Draco and… and I – I do like you." She said the last part quietly, averting her gaze again.

Hermione crossed her arms. She wasn't going to fall for the cute puppy dog look. It may have worked on an intoxicated Hermione, but not now. "That doesn't excuse what you did."

"What did I do?" asked Daphne. "I kissed you."

Hermione shook her head. "I was drunk. I couldn't control myself."

"Hermione, please don't do this. You know as well as I that you were in complete control of the situation. I've explained myself and you're trying to take the easy way out by not listening. I kissed you, you chose kissed me back. Why can't you admit it to yourself? You're being so immature – and it's _so mean_." Daphne's voice quivered, and she seized her curtains and ripped them closed.

* * *

 **Back to some more Bellatrix next chapter.**


	12. Black Princess

**Chapter XII**

 **Black Princess**

"Tom Riddle recruited followers from his house during his time at Hogwarts," said Dumbledore. "To my knowledge, his most fervent supporters were named Lestrange, Avery, Wilkes, Rosier. These were preeminent names in the pureblood community at the time, and I want you to remember them."

"Lestrange? Like the boys?"

"Yes. Their father was one of Tom's first Death Eaters. They, too, fell under his control. This was the way Lord Voldemort operated. He targeted the young, impressionable students while in school and sunk his claws into them. Once he had one, he had the family."

"He only wanted purebloods? He was a half-blood. Why didn't he go after half-bloods like… like Tracey or… Professor Snape isn't a pureblood, is he? He's a half-blood – Mister Malfoy said so. I don't believe he would prefer Pansy Parkinson to Professor Snape."

"Lord Voldemort found that purebloods were the most inclined to support blood purity – a radical philosophy easily hijacked for the dehumanization of his enemies, hence a tool to create him a passionate and determined army. He did, however, also attempt to recruit students that showed promise, such as Severus, regardless of blood. You yourself said that Tom was interested in your talent."

"That was a sixteen-year-old Tom. He could have – he might have had different motivations when in school."

"Whether he was sixteen or sixty, Lord Voldemort was very much a part of him. I believe that he values use more than blood. It just so happened that blood was of incredible use to him."

The dark cloud swirled around Hermione until she landed softly on a plush armchair. It had green upholstery and silvery serpent stitching. A central fire roared in the circular room, and other couches and chairs were arranged around it. They were in the Slytherin common room. Decades had not changed it much.

"Over here, Hermione," Dumbledore said, walking towards a group of students camped out on a nearby arrangement of tables and seats. Hermione followed him. There were four boys, two on a couch, two in chairs, sitting around a table filled with books and parchment. A girl sat in her own armchair, curled up with her books. Hermione recognized her thick, brown hair and her sharp face. "Andromeda in her sixth year," Dumbledore provided. "And you remember Rodolphus Lestrange. Seventh year."

Hermione saw the tallest boy in the group sitting on the left of the couch, staring intently down at the pages of his book. He had grown in the years since Hermione had last seen him. His face was more defined, his shoulders wider.

"Can you tell me who the other three are?"

She didn't recognize any of them, but chanced a guess. "Avery, Wilkes and Rosier?"

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "Precisely. Two of them will be dead in ten years."

Hermione shrieked, jumping in place as something passed _through_ her. She stared into a mass of black curls and the back of a girl's uniform. A boy passed through Dumbledore in much the same way, but he didn't react at all.

"Can't we get Uncle Arcturus to have Dumbledore sack that bloody ghost?" said the girl, perching herself on the arm of Andromeda's chair. Andromeda glared up at her and tugged a book out from under her.

"I won't sit through another one of his monologues," the boy said, dropping his bag under the table and making for the couch.

Rodolphus closed his book with a snap and placed it heavily on the table but did not let go of it. His arm blocked the boy's path to a seat. The boy engaged in a stare down with the elder Lestrange which he called quits on after a moment. When he turned, Hermione saw that he was Rabastan Lestrange.

"Bellatrix," Rodolphus said, turning his attention to the girl. "That looks uncomfortable. Why don't you sit next to me?" Bellatrix stayed in her spot. "Please? I only want to know how your day has been," he said. It didn't sound like anything more than pretense, but Bellatrix responded by moving slowly to the couch. Rodolphus guided her down next to him, arm around her waist.

"My day has been fine," she said with a bored look on her face.

"Excellent," said Rodolphus. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. Hermione saw her restrict her reaction to a slight lean away from him.

"It is January in Bellatrix's fourth year," Dumbledore said.

Rabastan slid over to Bellatrix's former place on Andromeda's chair, but the older Black girl stirred and made an indignant noise, driving Lestrange off with a withering stare.

"Why does Malfoy never sit with us?" Rabastan said, covering his lack of seat by turning to look over his shoulder.

Hermione followed his gaze and saw a little blonde boy. "Lucius?" she asked, and Dumbledore nodded.

"Because he's not the right kind of people," Andromeda replied in an annoyed voice.

"He's not _one of them_ ," he said with a quizzical look.

"He's not _one of us_ , either," Rodolphus murmured. He was leaning on the arm of the couch but his eyes still rested on Bellatrix. Her dark eyes gave away nothing but boredom, but she was clutching her bag tightly to her chest.

"Our fathers don't know his father," said one of the other boys.

Another one looked up. "More importantly, _his_ father doesn't know –"

"What's best for him," Andromeda said quickly, glaring at the boys. "And you don't either if you talk so loudly."

"Andromeda, we're among friends," Rodolphus said softly. "We can speak our minds."

"Not around my sister, you can't."

"Talk about what around me?" Bellatrix piped up.

"Nothing," said Andromeda.

"Our future," said Rodolphus. He moved his arm off Bellatrix's waist so he could brush her hair away from her face. "What do you intend to do after Hogwarts?"

Bellatrix shook her head so her hair fell back into place. "Andromeda is studying to go into healing."

"I know. I was asking about you, Bella."

She turned to look him in the eye for the first time. "Don't call me Bella. Only my sisters can call me that."

If Rodolphus was offended by that, he didn't show it. "Rab tells me you're handy in a duel. Says you can hex anyone in your year."

"He knows because I've hexed him a new tail on several occasions," Bellatrix sneered.

Rodolphus smiled slightly, eyes flicking to his brother. "He didn't tell me that."

"Ask him if he liked rabbit or lion better."

"Well, Rab? Answer my Bellatrix."

Rabastan went red. "My back was turned. I wasn't ready."

"A pity. She might have transformed your front into something more substantial if you were facing her," he leered at his brother before turning back to Bellatrix. "That's very impressive."

Bellatrix nodded. "I'm very impressive."

Rodolphus only smiled and stared at her more.

Hermione could see Andromeda glancing their way every few moments, looking concerned.

"Have you tried spells above your year?" Rodolphus asked.

"Many," Bellatrix said. "They're easy to learn if you have the right books."

"I have a lot of books," he said. "Seventh year books – and some of my father's personal collection."

"Your father's? Like… your family's?" Bellatrix asked, perking up.

He nodded. "Going back generations. Spells original and unique to the Lestrange family. Spells only _for_ the Lestrange family. You've read from the Black books, right?"

Bellatrix looked pained. "Uncle Arcturus keeps them locked away out in the country house."

Rodolphus shook his head. "Father doesn't think he should hoard the family's knowledge. He wants every Lestrange to learn from our books."

Bellatrix shifted in her seat and licked her lips. "Every Lestrange?"

"Don't you have classes to study for?" Andromeda called. "You should really do your homework, Bella."

Rodolphus leaned forward to stack up his parchments and textbooks. "I'm going back to my room. I need to write Father a letter." He stood and took a step before turning back. "If you're interested in any of the books…"

"Bella," Andromeda said, sitting up, "Father would want you to be ready for your classes. If you need help on an essay –"

Rodolpuhs glanced down at Andromeda. "I've never gotten less than an Exceeds on any essay. Are you coming, Bella?" He held out his hand.

Bellatrix looked between him and her sister. Andromeda shook her head. Bellatrix stood slowly and took his hand.

" _Rodolphus_ ," Andromeda stood and hissed. "This is _not_ appropriate."

"Andie," Bellatrix said clearly, "I can take care of myself."

"I'd never let any harm befall my bride-to-be," Rodolphus gave Andromeda a wicked smile. "I'll protect your sister as I expect you would protect my brother."

Rabastan exclaimed. "I don't need a _girl_ to protect me."

"You can't protect yourself _from_ a girl," Rodolphus sneered. He strode off down towards the dormitories with Bellatrix in tow. Andromeda stared at their backs, hand nervously twitching over her wand.

"Hey, Andromeda!" said someone. A little blonde girl came up to her. "I told my friends you could transfigure an owl into an ostrich – can you –"

"Go _away_ , Narcissa!" shouted Andromeda, turning on her sister with a snarl. Narcissa recoiled and the memory exploded into black dust.

The Slytherin common room reformed, but now they were near the outer edge. The common room was much less populated, and the fire crackled low. It was probably late at night. Hermione was standing over a little shabby boy laying across couch and reading a herbology book and grimacing. Not recognizing him, she looked around. There were others sprinkled around the room, mostly reading, some dozing off, but Hermione quickly found her marks.

Narcissa was prominent in the nearly empty room, sitting with impeccable posture next to Bellatrix, who was huddled over a large tome. Narcissa had grown a lot in what Hermione guessed was only a few years. She was now remarkably more recognizable. She had been a rather cute child, but Hermione saw that she had progressed into being a very pretty girl on the cusp of real beauty. Her hair was perfectly set, even at this late hour, her skirt and blouse were crisp and her eyes were bright. The light struck her face just so to make it look like she was glowing. Bellatrix, on the other hand, was chaos. Her hair was a mess, uniform crinkled, eyes dark and drooping, and her nose was just a bit too big. All in all, even with Bellatrix having three years on Narcissa, they didn't compare.

Dumbledore picked up on her thoughts and explained. "N.E.W.T.s. Bellatrix is a seventh year now and her exams are weeks away. You'll understand when you take them. Narcissa is now in fourth year."

Hermione moved closer to the sisters.

"Bella?" Narcissa said softly. "I know you and Andie don't really like him but…"

"He's a ponce, Narcissa," she breathed, eyes not leaving the pages.

"Bella!" the blonde said, aghast. "Don't say that! Lucius is perfectly respectable."

"Maybe his father is, but the boy's an arrogant prick."

"You're just saying that because he doesn't worship the ground you walk on," Narcissa chided her.

"That _is_ a problem."

"Once you get to know him, I'm sure you'll love him as much as I do."

Bellatrix glanced up from her book. "You can wait, Cissy. You don't have to choose him now. You've still got three years left at Hogwarts. And more after that."

"I know," said Narcissa.

"Why do you want to do this so early?"

"It's just my birthday party…"

"You're telling father you want him."

"I'm telling father I like him."

"And father will take it as you wanting him."

Narcissa shrugged. "He might."

"And you know what he'll do then."

"I know."

Bellatrix grumbled and shut her book, placing it on the table and giving Narcissa her whole attention. "Talk to me."

Narcissa looked down. "About what? I already said what I wanted to say."

"Tell me why now and why not when you graduate?"

"Because I like him now."

"And in three years?"

"I'll still like him."

"Okay, will he still like you?"

"Yes," she said confidently.

"Then it can still wait until then. Why the rush? If you don't think he will change his mind in three years, you don't have to lock him down."

"Because I want to do it this summer."

"Why?"

Narcissa shifted in her seat. "You and Andie are getting married soon…"

Bellatrix reached out and seized her hand, frowning. "You don't have to. Don't think you have to."

"I want to," said Narcissa. "I do."

"Andie and I are obligated to when our parents say so. You can wait. Don't rush into marriage because you want to be like us."

"Lucius is a good person. He loves me. I love him."

Hermione watched Bellatrix's face soften as she sighed. "Cissy, Andie and I just want you to be happy. We're doing this so you _can_ be happy. I want you to be absolutely sure you want this."

Narcissa squeezed her sister's hand. "I know I want him, Bella."

"If he makes you happy, I'm happy for you."

"You're not going to tell dad that he's an arrogant prick and a ponce?" Narcissa giggled.

Bellatrix shook her head. "He's already won over the only person who matters. Even if you elope with him, Uncle Arcturus would never disown you for marrying a pureblood, even without Father's consent. He might even give you all of Father's inheritance."

Narcissa leaned in and hugged her sister. "Don't say that. Uncle Arcturus likes all of us."

"Some more than others." Bellatrix said, wrapping her arms around her. As the embrace continued, Bellatrix began rubbing Narcissa's back. "You're sure he's for real? I don't want him using you –"

"I'm sure. I'm the youngest daughter of a second grandson of a third son. I'm not a piggybank for him – and he has his own fortune."

"You're a Black," Bellatrix said flatly. "You're worth more than his entire family tree."

"Only if Uncle Acrturus, Uncle Orion and Aunt Walburga, Aunt Cassie, Grandfather, Father, Sirius, Reggie, Andie _and_ you all decide to forgo your inheritance and give it to me."

"He might just try to make that happen," murmured Bellatrix. "And I wasn't talking about money."

"He only wants me for me."

"He doesn't _only_ want something. He wants _everything_."

"Maybe that's why I like him."

"If he hurts you –"

"Bella, he won't."

"It's just that I once told Andie that I would kill someone – anyone – who hurt you. And I meant it."

Narcissa hummed into her sister's neck. "I love you, too, Bella."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

Hermione had left a lamp on over her desk. Its warm light cast long shadows across the room. Three beds were empty. Hermione had seen Tracey and Millicent out in the common room, and Pansy was probably in some dark corner being fondled by Nott. Daphne's bed had the curtains pulled close but Hermione knew Daphne was there because her shoes were aligned perfectly at the foot of the bed.

Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, slipping her robes and shoes off. She was tired. The Pensieve seemed to sap her energy. It hadn't felt that long in the memories, but Hermione was tired. She sighed and laid back on her bed.

She wondered if any of the Black sisters had lived in this room. Had Bellatrix hid here from Rodolphus? Had Narcissa dreamed of Lucius on this bed? What would Andromeda have thought of Hermione if they had been roommates? Would she care if Hermione was Muggle-born?

What would Hermione think of _them_? Privileged, rich pureblood girls who felt entitled to the best of the best? Hermione lived with some of those. But they had to worry about their family – their future family. Hermione and Tracey weren't being set up with their classmates. They weren't being pressured into marriage at age eleven. Hermione didn't have a seventh year boy hanging over her shoulder acting like she was his little puppy to play with at any time. Her parents encouraged her to get top marks, not a top husband.

Hermione looked over at Daphne's bed. What was she doing in there? Was she thinking about these things? How unfair it was that she was being forced into marriage while Hermione was free to do as she pleased? And how she feels that Hermione had made everything out to be Daphne's fault? It was Daphne's life that was being cut up and sold off.

Hermione sat up tentatively, then slid off her bed and crossed over to Daphne's bed. She knocked lightly on the post. "Daphne?" she said. "I wanted to talk…" Hermione lifted back the curtain. The lamp light revealed the shape of Daphne's turned back. She was wearing a sleeveless shirt that exposed her narrow shoulders and her thin black hair was splayed out on her pillow. She didn't turn towards Hermione. She was asleep. "Right…" sighed Hermione. Daphne held to a conservative sleep schedule. She wasn't up till dawn like Tracey, or restless like Millicent.

Hermione returned to her bed and considered taking a shower or going right to bed, too. A shower sounded nice, but that would delay sleep for half an hour at least.

"Hermione?" Daphne called softly, peeking out around her curtain. "Did you say something?"

"Oh, no, I - " Hermione stood quickly for some reason. Startled, maybe, that Daphne had woken. Not exactly ready - not really knowing what to say now. "I should have realized you were asleep. I didn't mean to wake you."

"That's okay," she rubbed her eyes. "I'm up now."

"Yeah, sorry…"

Daphne sat up and pulled her curtain back more. "What is it?"

"I just…" Hermione focused on watching her finger run over the grain of the wood desktop, not looking up. "I wanted to say something…"

"You can sit, if you want," said Daphne, patting the side of her bed and moving to make room.

"Oh, thanks," Hermione mumbled, reluctantly perching half on the bed. She noticed that Daphne was clutching her sheets to her chest, as if hiding herself from Hermione. Hermione had already seen what there was to hide, though, and she hated herself for thinking of that. "I wanted to tell you… I'm sorry I was so mean. I don't know why… I shouldn't have blamed you. You're being screwed over just as much as I am. Even more."

"You weren't that bad," she said, looking down at her lap. "I understand why you were angry. And if you are still angry."

"I'm not," Hermione said quickly. "It just took me a bit to comprehend. Things aren't going so well and… I don't know. I just get angry sometimes and I know I should control myself but I just… slip."

"That's okay."

"It's not, really. I – I shouldn't act like a child. I keep telling myself that, but I keep doing it anyway."

Daphne nodded. "You've been through a lot, Hermione. I don't know if I could stay as sane as you have."

"You're going through your own thing – and I can't really understand what that is like," Hermione pulled her feet up to rest on the wooden bed frame. "I mean… I'm trying to… it's just so… I don't have a sister. I don't even know what that's like – and that's the smallest thing. It's always been just myself and my dad and my mother, but mostly just myself."

"You're lucky," Daphne smiled. "Astoria is nothing but trouble."

"But… you're still…" It really didn't make sense to her. If she really didn't want Draco - and Hermione had trouble with that part because, well, he was _Draco_ \- why was she doing it? Compassion wasn't exactly Hermione's best quality. She decided to ask the question that had been sitting at the back of her mind. "So – you don't like boys?"

Daphne glanced up. "They can be quite good at Quidditch."

"No, I mean –"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I don't like boys."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Since when?"

She shrugged. "I've never liked boys. I don't understand what there _is_ to like."

"I... but then why are you fine with the whole… Draco thing?"

"I'm not. I told you, it's for Astoria."

"Astoria annoys you to no end."

Daphne yawned and slowly fell into a reclining positing. "Yes, she's my sister."

"So why are you willing to live a life you don't want to, just for her?"

"Yes, she's my sister," she said simply.

"What if you were afraid of Draco?" asked Hermione, stretching her legs out on the bed and leaning against the bedpost. "What if... what if you thought he could hurt you?"

"Draco won't hurt me. You know he couldn't do that to me. He's petty and jealous, but he can't actually hurt someone. Not really. Not intentionally."

"But if he could? You'd still be willing to go through with it?"

"She's my sister, Hermione. I have a duty to her and to my family. I'd do anything for Astoria. If you had a little sister, you'd understand."

Hermione rested her head against the post and closed her eyes. "I don't know that I would."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… I don't know if I'd care for a sister," Hermione sighed. "It would add… too many complications."

Daphne paused for a moment. "Even with everything that's been going on, I think you're happier than you were two years ago." Hermione looked down at her. She was clutching her pillow under her head and watching Hermione.

"What makes you say that?"

"I don't think we'd be having this conversation two years ago."

"No, I don't think we would."

"Do you want a pillow?" Daphne asked, reaching for an extra nestled against the headboard, and handing it to her.

"Thanks…" Hermione said. She laid down, at first afraid of the awkwardness, and then relieved at the comfort of not sitting up.

"I think you would care for a sister."

"Why?"

"Because some complications turn out to be good. Because no matter what happens, no matter how annoying she would be, you'd always have someone you could trust. Someone who would never let you down or turn on you. Someone you could talk to and know they wouldn't betray you."

"That's Astoria?"

"No, that's me," Daphne laughed softly. "I'm the good sister."

Hermione shook her head slowly. She didn't know if Daphne was joking or not. Was it a one way relationship? Hermione liked Astoria fine. She was a nice girl. But she got... a bit much. Having to deal with her constantly... well, it didn't seem like what Daphne was describing.

"I know that when it comes down to it, Astoria trusts me completely and I trust her completely. There aren't many people like that out there."

"Does Astoria know you don't like boys?"

"She might suspect," Daphne murmured. "She's a bright girl, when she wants to be."

"You haven't told her."

"No, I've never _told_ anyone. Except you."

"You said you trusted her."

"It's not about trust."

"Would she have your back, too?" said Hermione. "Would she consider Nott if you told her?"

Daphne gave her a glum look. "She would insist."

"Are you sure?"

"I am."

"And you would never consider letting her?"

"Never," Daphne shook her head.

"You're a Slytherin. You're telling me that you have zero reservations about sacrificing yourself for her?"

"I'm a Greengrass before I'm a Slytherin – I'm a sister before I'm a Greengrass. There are greater things in life than marrying who you dream about as a kid. There are greater things in life than living up to an impossible image of what house you're sorted into. I'd rather be a Muggle than let my family down. I'd rather be dead than let Astoria get hurt."

That was the last thing she expected out of Daphne's mouth. She was sure that Draco would never get caught considering the _possibility_ of being a Muggle. Hermione herself... well, once she discovered magic, there was no way back. She didn't know what would be more important that being a witch.

But the rest... Hermione could respect that. Being labeled _Slytherin_ hadn't worked out too well for her. If, for a day, she could live without that tag, Hermione might not say no. And marrying - Hermione had never dreamed about that. Her dreams were about herself when she did dream. Not in a narcissistic way, just... weird dreams of herself in weird situations. She never pined for any celebrity, any footballer. It never crossed her mind. Even when she was with Draco - she was much too young to think realistically about that. And Hermione didn't know much about thinking unrealistically. Hermione hummed. "Who did you dream about as a kid?"

"Awfully personal tonight, Hermione," Daphne said, hugging her pillow closer.

"I was just thinking – if you don't want to –" Hermione fumbled with her words.

"I always thought Morgan Le Fey would have been an excellent wife," said Daphne, a wistful smile on her face. "She was brilliant and beautiful and I'm not entirely sure she didn't kill Merlin."

"Morgan Le Fey?"

She nodded. "But I quickly refocused my dreams once I got to Hogwarts. No more realistic, but still…"

"Who?"

Daphne's cheeks were tinged pink, half her face hidden behind her pillow now. "That's obvious, isn't it? Why do you think Astoria already knew everything about you last year?"

"Second year?" asked Hermione, shocked. "We never even talked until third year…"

"First."

Hermione gaped. " _First_ year?"

" _Ast_ onishing, isn't it?" A shy smile peeked out from behind the pillow. "I was really impressed how you showed Pansy up in front of the entire house."

"I don't remember the _entire_ house being there…" Hermione trailed off. It had been so long ago. Before everything. _Hermuddy._ It was so insignificant now. So... immature. On both their parts.

Daphne was still smiling at her, and staring with her bright green eyes. "You've only got more impressive."

Hermione fidgeted, not knowing how to respond. She'd been able to successfully ignore the elephant in the room so far – somehow blowing over all the references, implications and outright statements – but now… "What do you want me to say?"

"You don't have to say anything, if you don't want."

"Then I won't."

"Okay."

"I'm sorry I woke you for this," said Hermione, grasping for an exit strategy. How to extricate herself promptly but still retain the... not intimacy, never that, but the... respect? Rapport? The good faith. To retain the good faith achieved during the conversation. She didn't want to lose that.

"I don't mind."

Hermione stared at the ceiling of the bed. It was exactly like her own. The patterns on the wood even looked the same. Were all the beds the same? Perhaps they were mass produced by magic. Did all the houses have the same type of beds? She remembered a similar style in Gryffindor that one minute she spend impersonating Patil in her room. Lavender Brown had been there. She knew Parvati's schedule - she knew her crush, even. What would it have been like if Hermione had been that close with someone in her dorm room?

"Daphne?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you and Tracey talk like this?"

"Yeah."

"I mean… _like_ this?'

Daphne paused. "I don't like Tracey the same way, if that's what you mean."

Hermione nodded, closing her eyes. That wasn't exactly her meaning. But was it wrong for her to enjoy it? Daphne preferred Hermione to her best friend. Even though Hermione was a Muggle-born, a pureblood Daphne wanted her. Hermione was doing _something_ right, at least. Then again, Daphne was a girl. It wasn't exactly _natural_ , in the strictest sense of the word. Maybe she was doing something _wrong_. But there was very little Hermione could say was _wrong_ with Daphne, other than... and that hadn't _felt_ wrong, really. Odd, for sure... not _wrong_ , really.

Hermione shook her head. She was getting caught up on the little things.

She glanced over and caught Daphne staring at her. "Sorry," Daphne laughed nervously, rolling her eyes. "I've just never been this close to you sober. I know it's silly, but..."

"Do you watch me sleep?" Hermione asked hesitantly.

"No!" gasped Daphne. "No, I wouldn't do that. That's weird."

"And when I get dressed… when I'm in the shower…"

"I'm not a _peeper_ , Hermione," Daphne said, looking hurt. "I'd never trespass on your privacy on purpose. Not even… I'm not _that_ infatuated with you…" Her cheeks were burning and she looked away.

"I'd understand if you… I mean – it would be natural, but I'd… rather you didn't."

"I don't," Daphne said. "I don't. We're roommates, so of course I see… I don't do it on purpose because…" Daphne let out a little whimper. "Please don't think I'm a creep."

"I don't. I just wanted to make sure."

"Good. Because I don't want you to think that."

"I'm glad we could talk like this. Clear things up."

"Me too."

"Good." Hermione nodded and returned to staring at the ceiling. Things weren't cleared up. Not really. Hermione still didn't know what was going on or what she should do. But it was nice to pretend.

They lay in silence for several minutes. It was peaceful until Hermione remembered what had happened the last time she had been on this bed with this girl and she started wondering why she was there and why she hadn't returned to her own bed yet. Hermione glanced over at Daphne, checking if she had fallen back asleep yet. No. Her green eyes flashed open at Hermione, then closed. Hermione couldn't tell if they were done talking.

"It's getting late," Hermione tried to say casually.

"Yeah…." Daphne nodded, eyes suddenly wide and attentive again, and she slowly propped herself up on her elbow.

"So…" Hermione tapped her fingers together, thinking of what words to use.

Daphne quickly leaned across the gap between them and pressed her lips around Hermione's.

Hermione pushed away immediately with a gasp of shock.

"I'm sorry," Daphne jumped back. "I'm sorry - I got that wrong." Daphne blushed a bright red and clutched her sheet with white knuckles. "I got that _so_ wrong, didn't I?"

Hermione nodded without saying a word.

"I'm so sorry…" Daphne pushed her face into her hands. "I won't… I won't try anything else. I thought you – we were talking and… everything was out in the open and… I thought, maybe… You can stay – I won't try anything else, I promise."

Daphne laid back down, scooting to the other side of the bed and pulling her sheet up to her chin. She looked so embarrassed. Like she wanted to die.

Hermione let her legs trail off the bed, slowly slipping onto her feet.

She switched the lamp off and plunged the room into darkness. Hermione could barely make out outline of her bed. She grabbed for her bed curtain but didn't climb in. Hermione looked back at Daphne's bed. What was so objectionable about her? She was intelligent, pretty, she liked Hermione and liked kissing Hermione and was considerate of Hermione's feelings. Was the only stumbling block that she was a girl? Hermione had never thought of girls like that.

But she hadn't thought of boys like that until Draco, either. Hermione just didn't usually think like that. Hadn't Hermione had reservations about Draco, in the beginning? It was a new experience and she wasn't exactly sure what to make of it, only allowing things to progress because she trusted Draco wouldn't hurt her.

Daphne wouldn't hurt her. Hermione didn't believe Daphne _could_ hurt her, especially in any physical or magical way. She had never shown that she would _want_ to hurt Hermione anyway. She trusted Daphne, probably, now more than before. And they had already... And there wasn't anything so objectionable about her, other than that it was a _her_ and not a _him_ and even then Hermione wasn't exactly certain what was so fine with _hims_ that wasn't fine with _hers_ and...

So what did it all mean? Hermione didn't have the time or energy to sift through everything to find the right answer. She was tired and wanted to go to bed. Did it really matter which bed she slept in? Wasn't it just easier to ignore her doubts and just… go? Just once, just to test it out?

Hermione let a long breath out, then closed her curtains. She walked back over to Daphne's bed and climbed in.

"Hermione?" Daphne asked, surprised.

"I want to sleep, okay?" Hermione said.

"Okay."

"I don't want to… you know," Hermione lifted up the sheets and slid in, pulling a pillow under her head.

"Okay," said Daphne, her voice betraying giddiness through the dark.

They laid there for several tense moments. Hermione couldn't tell how close they were. Any movement could have unfortunate consequences. What if -

"Hermione?" Daphne whispered.

"What?"

"I liked it last time – when we fell asleep… that is, if you're okay with it…"

Hermione reached out into the darkness. She felt for Daphne's hip, and then moved her hand around Daphne's back and pulled her closer. Daphne hummed and wrapped her arms around Hermione, pushing her head into Hermione's neck and shoulder.

Hermione wasn't going to tell her, but she was glad Daphne said something. She enjoyed the warmth and touch of someone else, and now she wouldn't have to spend the night worrying about keeping to her half of the bed. She felt Daphne slip her smooth, bare leg between Hermione's, first her ankle, then calf and knee, until Daphne pressed her thigh between Hermione's. "I just want to sleep," Hermione warned.

"Okay," Daphne murmured, her leg rubbing in rhythm until it found a place to stop. Her hair smelled of lavender shampoo. "I like sleeping."


	13. Casus Bella

**Chapter XIII**

 **Casus Bella**

Dumbledore was waiting in his office when Hermione arrived. The cabinet that held the Pensieve was open and bathed in spotty, silvery light from the basin. He waved her over to his desk and sat down.

"I hope you enjoyed the second task as much as I did," he said as he finished writing a letter. "Very exciting."

Hermione harrumphed. "Potter should have won."

"He was in the lead for quite a while," Dumbledore nodded.

"He stopped in the middle of a race. For nothing."

"Not for nothing, Miss Granger. He stopped to make sure everyone got out safely."

"They were getting out safely anyway, weren't they? You wouldn't have murdered a French national just to make a sporting event more exciting."

Dumbledore hummed. "In the moment, I'm sure Harry wasn't thinking quite like that."

"He never thinks," Hermione muttered.

The headmaster smiled at her over his spectacles. "Taken an interest in Mister Potter lately, have you?"

Hermione crossed her arms. "Someone has to make sure he's not hopeless out there."

"I'm sure he appreciates your efforts," said Dumbledore. "Shall we begin our lesson?"

"Professor," Hermione interrupted, "I'm not exactly sure what you want me to be learning."

"You've been paying attention, have you not?"

"Of course, sir," said Hermione. "I just don't understand what… not to be narcissistic or anything, but weren't these lessons supposed to help me?"

"Indeed."

"So I don't understand what this have to do with me. I mean, I know Narcissa – it's… interesting to see her past… and I suppose I've learned more about purebloods, but…"

"You want to know the purpose of me showing you these memories," Dumbledore nodded. "Let me explain. During times of turmoil and strife, people are put under tremendous strain. They make decisions that have consequences for the rest of their lives – and quite possibly beyond – without truly understanding the repercussions. I believe it is important for you to understand your situation and future consequences."

"I'm not a pureblood being married off, Professor."

"Perhaps you are not in the exact situation, but would I be wrong to assume that you've felt an emotional strain this year?"

"I don't follow."

"If we continue, perhaps we can shed some light, hmm?"

Hermione reluctantly agreed.

"We shall visit only one memory tonight, a summer's evening in 1972, a few months after the previous memory. Bellatrix had just graduated. But you will need to become familiar with the players. You, of course, have been acquainted with the Black sisters, the Lestranges, Mister Malfoy, and, briefly, Sirius Black.

"The sisters' parents, whom you may or may not recognize from their short appearance earlier, are Cyngus Black and Druella Rosier – yes, the same family as Evan and the others. That link is significant, I think. Cyngus' father, Pollox, was the cousin of the eldest living Black at this point in time, Arcturus III. As head of the Black family, Arcturus had the power to disown any and all he chooses to. He attended Hogwarts before my days of teaching so I did not know him very well. As a Black, he was raised to despise Muggles and Muggle-borns, but do not let that fool you. Everything I have seen makes him appear to have been a mild mannered, intelligent and cautious man in life, and one who valued his family very highly.

"Arcturus' children were named Lucretia and Orion. Lucretia had married, but her husband died soon after. Orion married his cousin and fathered two boys, Sirius and Regulus Black. The mother was quite a handful and Arcturus seemed to have recognized that very early on. Though it was his prerogative to live in the Black family home in London, it appears that he preferred to live in his country house with his widowed daughter rather than in the city with his son, his daughter-in-law, and their two young children. He was quite distant from the next generation of Blacks: Bellatrix, Andromeda, Narcissa, Sirius and Regulus. I can't help but wonder if his absence contributed to their ultimate fate – two in Azkaban, two disowned, and the untimely death of young Regulus Black."

"Narcissa is disowned by her family?" Hermione asked, frowning at the math.

"Hmm? I don't believe so, no," said Dumbledore. "Sirius Black was both disowned and sent to Azkaban, though not for the same reasons and not at the same time."

"So… how did Regulus die?"

"He made a mistake," Dumbledore said quietly. "A mistake I'm afraid was too common in his day." He sat in silence for a moment, eyes out of focus. Then he blinked and looked back at Hermione. "Where were we? Arcturus, Orion, Walburga – Regulus' mother – I believe that covers most of them. If you have any questions, do not hesitate, but we should begin viewing the memory."

Hermione fell onto her feet this time, darkness eroding into light and the world shifting into view.

She recognized the ground floor of the Leaky Cauldron. The tables were still arranged in the same layout and it was no less busy than when she had first walked through it. Sitting in front of Hermione was Andromeda Black – in her twenties now if Bellatrix was out of school. She looked good. Her hair was curled perfectly and hung lightly like a tress of ivy.

But she was staring off into the distance with a sad, resigned look upon her pretty face. The butterbeer glass before her was untouched. Across the table sat a young man, probably the same age as Andromeda. Everything about him was… brown. His hair was dull, his face mousy and round, he wore an old jacket that looked a bit worn and he sloshed back the last dregs of his drink. Hermione imagined that he could have been sitting at the bar of any pub in England and fit right in – except that pinned to the collar of his jacket was a small, proud, blue shield with a silver P. Hermione would never suspect that this small man had been a Ravenclaw prefect. He looked so... wrong sitting at the same table as Andromeda. Like he was pretending to be something that he so clearly was not.

Andromeda glanced at him and shifted in her seat and said sharply, "I have to go."

The man stared intently at the bottom of his glass as if hoping more drink would appear.

"I really do," she said in a kinder voice.

He nodded, slowly tilting the glass from one side to another.

Andromeda slid her butterbeer across the table to him. He murmured a thanks and took a big gulp. "You don't have to answer me now. But I do have to go now."

"Okay."

"Can we… have lunch tomorrow? Or next week or…?"

"No, I mean…" He set the glass down and looked up at her. "Okay – yes."

"To lunch?" she asked slowly.

"To everything," he sighed.

"You mean…?"

He threw his arms up. "I'm not going to say no."

"It's very… short notice."

"Yeah – but, come on, Andie," he laughed nervously, "Why would I say no?"

Andromeda mumbled something and shrugged.

"We can talk about how everything's going to work tomorrow. You have a thing to get to, right?"

She sighed and stood. "I do." Hermione and Dumbledore followed them out the back towards Diagon Alley.

"Are you going to tell them?"

"They'll find out when they find out."

"You shouldn't lie to your family," he said.

"You haven't seen my family."

"I've seen your sisters," he said, taking out his wand to tap the combination to open the wall in the back room. "I don't think Narcissa would care."

Andromeda made a noise. "Narcissa isn't the problem. She's young and innocent and a silly romantic."

The wall folded back and they stepped into Diagon Alley together. "Still, they'll understand."

"You're far too optimistic," Andromeda shook her head.

"That's why you love me," he pulled her to a stop and put his hands on her shoulders. "I don't want this to get between you and your family."

"Fine," said Andromeda after a moment. "I'll see if I can slip it in somewhere."

The man smiled, and then Hermione heard something whistle and crack. A black cord whipped through the air, lashing itself around the man's neck and yanking him off balance and sending him tumbling to the ground.

"Ted!" Andromeda cried, reaching for her wand.

Hermione turned quickly, catching sight of Bellatrix Black stalking forward. She wore a ferocious snarl and had her wand fixed on the man, who was now clutching his throat and looking up at her.

"Bella!" said Andromeda, seeing her sister, "What are you doing?"

"That filthy animal was touching you, Andie," said Bellatrix. The younger Black reached into her boot and produced a short, silver knife.

"Bella, stop," Andromeda said, pulling on her arm.

"What? I'm only going to teach him a lesson in respecting his betters." Bellatrix struggled against her sister's hold and glared down at her target.

"Not in public," whispered Andromeda. "And put that knife away."

Bellatrix shook her off and peered down the street. There were a few people watching them with interest. She threw her chin up and sniffed. "You're lucky there are witnesses."

"Put it away."

She slipped the knife back into her boot. "If you ever touch my sister again," Bellatrix hissed, leaning over Ted, "I'll send you back to your muggles in a box. Got it?" He nodded slowly, still laying on the ground.

Bellatrix turned to her sister. "You're late." She grabbed Andromeda's arm and the world spun around Hermione like she was caught in a tornado. After a second, they landed on the front steps of a London townhouse. Bellatrix wrenched the door open and walked in. "Mother sent me to make sure you'd be here." She swung around the banister and started up a long staircase.

"I was on my way," Andromeda fumed, following her.

"You should be glad I came when I did."

"I was fine."

"That Mudblood accosted you," Bellatrix turned off the stairs on the second level. Hermione recognized the hallway from Andromeda's first memory. "You should have broken his legs."

"I was fine, Bella," Andromeda repeated as they walked through her bedroom. It was pristine. No one had occupied it in some time.

"Where was Holly?" Bellatrix asked, passing into her own room and crossed over to the next door.

"What?"

Bellatrix paused with her hand on the doorknob. "You said you were meeting Holly for a late lunch. Why wasn't she there?"

"She left," Andromeda said curtly. "We went through the shops, had lunch, and then she had just left when you showed up."

Bellatrix hummed, twisted the knob and pushed through into the third room.

Narcissa was sitting at her desk in front of a large mirror. She wore a sky-blue dress and her hair was pulled into a golden knot upon which a glittering tiara rested. She beamed when she saw her sisters in the mirror. "Andie!" she jumped out of her chair and hugged her eldest sister.

"Narcissa," Andromeda lifted her off her feet and kissed her cheek. "Happy birthday!"

"I'm so glad you made it!"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, Cissy." Andromeda kissed her forehead and held her at arm's length. "You look gorgeous. Are you sure Lucius deserves you?"

"He'll have to earn his keep." Narcissa giggled and blushed, a vibrant display of emotion. She was so very young in the memory. Like a new book, fully formed but not yet worn around the edges, or loosened in the bindings. She was not the Narcissa that Hermione remembered.

"I have something for you," Andromeda said, producing a dark-wood box and handing it to Narcissa. She pried it open with her thin fingers and exclaimed. Laid in soft velvet was a shiny silver hair pin, with an emerald affixed to the base.

"It's beautiful, Andie!" Narcissa said, hugging her sister again. "Help me put it in." Narcissa pulled at her hair, unfurling her golden locks.

Inky black splotches spluttered around the room for a quick second, and the memory reformed in the next room. Bellatrix was standing in front of a large mirror picking at her curly black mane while Andromeda was leaning against the post of her bed.

"If a mudblood had touched me, he'd be dead before he hit the ground," Bellatrix said.

"Can you just drop it?"

"What were you doing talking to that mudblood, anyway?"

"He has a name," snapped Andromeda.

Bellatrix locked her eyes on Andromeda through the mirror, and Andromeda froze. "What did you say?"

"I said that he has a name –" said Andromeda. "Everyone has a name. I think we should use names."

"I know everyone has a name," Bellatrix said softly. "You didn't like that I called him mudblood."

"It is a crude term," Andromeda said quickly. "I've seen their blood and it looks just the same as ours."

Bellatrix turned slowly towards her sister, her mouth hanging open slightly. "You weren't there to have lunch with Holly."

"I had lunch, Bella."

She shook her head. "Not with Holly. You were with him."

"I was –" Andromeda cut herself off.

"You were!" Bellatrix cried, eyes wide. "You were with a mudblood?"

"Bella –" she grabbed for her sister but Bellatrix jumped away. "Be quiet."

Bellatrix put a hand over her mouth. "Why?"

"Shh, Bella, don't –"

"You like him," Bellatrix whispered. "You like a mudblood."

"He's not that bad and… he's not…"

"Why, Andie?" Bellatrix whined, a pained look crossing her face. "And today?"

"Bella, you're overreacting –"

"No – you need to stop seeing him," said Bellatrix. "You need to forget him. Don't… don't say anything, don't think anything. Just stop."

"Bella, I can't –"

"No –" she said, running a hand through her bushy hair and spinning on the spot. "This doesn't have to be anything. If you don't say anything and you stop seeing him and… I'll make him stop sniffing around you. We can make this work."

Andromeda shook her head. "I can't, Bella."

"You can't?" Bellatrix glared at her. "I'll tell you what you can't do. You can't be caught with a mudblood. You can't let Rabastan know you've been seeing a mudblood. You can't… If he finds out… Why, Andie? Why?"

"Because," Andromeda whispered, taking a guilty look at her sister. "I'm going to marry him."

Bellatrix was ashen.

The sound of a door opening drifted up to them and voices erupted downstairs. Narcissa swung into the room hanging off the doorknob and grinning silly. "They're here!"

"Bella," Andromeda breathed, eyes wide, pleading.

"Come on!" Narcissa cried, skipping to them and seizing their hands, pulling them out of the room and down the stairs.

They reached the entrance hall as the first of the guests filtered through the door. Hermione recognized the Lestrange brothers immediately. Rabastan was still a lanky teenager, but Rodolphus easily stood as the tallest in the room and looked a grown man. His dark eyes moved with slow, deliberate pace, and settled on Bellatrix. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, but she almost didn't notice. She was still glaring at Andromeda, who nodded curtly to Rabastan with an attitude that warned him off from coming too close. He twitched nervously and nodded back.

From around the back of the Lestrange brothers came another boy with bright, blond hair. Narcissa jumped forward and threw her arms around him. Young Lucius Malfoy looked much the same as the adult version, maybe a little thinner, smoother. Unworn. He hugged Narcissa, but with an expression of embarrassment. He was looking over her at her father, who coughed roughly.

Narcissa disentangled herself and blushed. "Good evening, Lucius," she said, a fruitless return to formality.

"Mister Malfoy," Narcissa's father said, stepping forward. Lucius shook his hand firmly.

"Mister Black. Thank you for inviting me to your home," he said formaly.

"My daughter would have had a fit if I didn't," said Mister Black – Cyngus, or Pollux? Hermione had forgotten for a moment.

"I have learned that crossing Narcissa comes at a price," Lucius agreed.

Cyngus, it was, half-hummed, half-growled. "Miss Black to you, Mister Malfoy."

Lucius went stiff. "Of course, sir."

"Come now, dear," Mrs. Black chuckled. "Don't try to intimidate the boy."

"I wasn't trying," he replied with a smirk. The doorbell rang. "That should be the cousins." There was a cacophony of greetings for half a minute as a family of four entered the home. A rather wide woman with thinning black hair came in and enveloped Andromeda and Bellatrix in a hug. The father was a short man who walked as if he had wooden planks strapped to his back to keep him standing as tall as he could. He hesitantly shook the hands of the Lestrange brothers at the behest of his cousin Cyngus. Behind them were two young boys. The first might have been in Hogwarts already. He had a sour expression and hid behind a mop of black hair. The younger brother looked suitably pleased to be there, earning a ruffle of his hair and a sweet smile from Narcissa.

"So this is the Gryffindor," Mrs. Black said, looking with mild amusement at the older boy. He crossed his arms and grimaced.

The boy's mother made a ticking sound with her tongue. "I blame that ratty hat. Everyone knows he should have been Slytherin."

"No, mother," he pouted. "I wanted to go to Gryffindor."

His mother batted the back of his head. "Don't mind him. He's been acting up all summer."

The doorbell rang again, and this time the guests came in on their own. An elderly man stepped in, leaning on an ornate ebony cane in one hand, and a middle-aged blonde witch on the other. His white hair reached his shoulders and he had a bushy beard, though not one to rival Dumbledore's. His face was wrinkly and he looked tired, but his blue eyes burned fiercely and the entire entry hall turned their attention to him.

"Ah, Cyngus…" he said in a creaky voice. "I am pleased you thought to call on me before your last was married off."

"None of us are actually married yet, Uncle," Andromeda said with a small curtsy.

"That will be rectified," Mrs. Black said, frowning at her eldest daughter. Bellatrix mirrored her look, only with more ire.

The old man curled his lip into a bit of a smile. He held out a wrinkled hand. "Come here, dear. My eyes have seen better days." Andromeda stepped forward and took his hand. He nodded. "Now I remember, Andromeda. I remember the day you were born. Such a quiet baby. But I'd remember when all of you were born, I suppose." He shooed her away and motioned for Bellatrix to come. "Mmm. Yes. You're not in Hogwarts still, are you?"

"I graduated this spring, Uncle Arcturus," said Bellatrix.

"Of course. I must have misplaced my invitation to your graduation," he said lightly, his eyes fixing on Cyngus. "Now, the birthday girl, if I'm not mistaken." He turned to Narcissa and cupped her cheek. He glanced to the witch by his side. "So young. She looks just like you, doesn't she?"

"You're being nostalgic, father," she smiled. "I was never so pretty."

Narcissa blushed and mumbled something incoherent.

"Where are my boys, Orion?" Arcturus asked.

"Sirius, say hello to your grandfather," Orion, the short man, said, prodding his older son forward.

The older boy stepped up glumly. Arcturus bent down and grinned at him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "First Gryffindor in the family for generations. If you were brave enough to face your mother after that, I'm sure you could have gone to no other house."

Sirius broke into a wide smile.

"Don't encourage the boy," his mother chided in a loud, cutting voice. "He'll get ideas."

Arcturus waved an uninterested hand at the woman and spotted the younger boy. "Brother! You look so young!"

The boy giggled. "I'm not your brother!"

"You are Regulus, no?" Arcturus started. "My brother was named Regulus."

"No, it's me, grandpapa!"

"Oh," he said, reaching out to pick up the little boy. "Now I see. You look just like him, you know. He was a good man. You are honoring his name?"

"Yes, grandpapa."

"Father," the woman beside him said, "Don't strain yourself."

Arcturus made a face. "Regulus, say hello to your Aunt Lucretia." He handed the boy off to his daughter. Now he glanced around the room before stepping towards Lucius. "Mister Malfoy."

"Mister Black, sir," Lucius responded. The shook hands.

"How is your father?"

"Well, sir," he said. "He is on the continent, otherwise he would be here."

"Of course," Arcturus nodded. "You intend to marry my dear Narcissa?"

Lucius flushed, but, to his credit, he did not hesitate. "If she will have me, sir."

"As it should be," said Arcturus. Behind Lucius, Narcissa was beaming. Arcturus stepped forward, leaning on his cane, and pushed through the group of people towards another room. "I do remember this house, Cyngus."

"Mister Black," Rodolphus said, stepping towards him with hand extended. "I am –"

"I believe I gave it to you," Arcturus said, looking over his shoulder at Cyngus. "Has it served you well?"

"As a house should," Cyngus grimaced, following him to the parlor.

The rest of the party filed through, and the black splotches returned for a moment. Suddenly everyone was sitting around a long table under several bejeweled chandeliers. It was the same evening, as the guests were wearing the same clothes.

Arcturus sat at the head of the table, apparently oblivious to the rest of the party as he dug into a rare flank of steak.

"I have always wondered, Lucius," Rabastan was saying, "Why you did not want to join us in the common room. You were always welcome."

Lucius sipped on his glass of wine. "I thought wining the heart of a Black sister was a requirement to join the group. I only recently succeeded." Polite laughter flickered around the table.

"But really," Rabastan pressed on, twisting in his chair. "Did you prefer the company of the greasy half-blood to us?"

"Don't be so rude, Rabastan," Narcissa said lowly. "There are many less fortunate than us."

Lucius frowned. "He is quite useful."

"He's dirty – actually dirty," Rabastan snorted. "Not just his blood, but his clothes… his hair!"

"A galleon covered in mud is still a galleon," Lucius said softly. "Wash it off and no one would look twice."

"What about gold-covered mud?" said Bellatrix. "How would the Malfoys value that?"

Lucius glanced at her. "Something is worth what people believe it is worth."

"But we know that mud is worthless, isn't that right Andromeda?"

Andromeda kept her eyes on her plate and didn't respond.

"I wouldn't say worthless," said Lucius. "Certain muds can be made into clay – made into pottery. The utility of an item is not always seen by some."

Bellatrix glared at him. "You would not balk at some mudblood –"

"Bellatrix," Andromeda said shorty. "Keep a civil tongue at the dinner table."

"Oh, I forgot," Bellatrix raised her voice. "You don't like me calling them mudbloods."

"You need to be quiet," hissed Andromeda. Lucius gave her a questioning look.

"Or is it just him you don't want me to call mudblood." The elder Blacks were now looking down the table. "What was his name? Ted?"

Andromeda stared ferociously at her sister, but did not say anything.

Cyngus grumbled at the other end of the table. "What are you saying, Bellatrix?"

"Nothing, Father," Bellatrix threw back her head, kinky hair whipping through the air in a frenzy. "Just congratulating my dear sister on her recent engagement."

"We were engaged years ago," said Rabastan, waving her away.

"Not you," Bellatrix laughed chillingly. "She was telling me about her little mudblood friend."

"Shut –"

"Andromeda," Cyngus said, sitting straight. "What is this all about?"

"Nothing, Father," said Andromeda. "Bellatrix is just…"

"Just what?"

"Just telling everyone that I found Andromeda with a mudblood in Diagon Alley today," Bellatrix completed.

"Andromeda?" her mother asked. "Is this true?"

"I…" she trailed off. She stared at Bellatrix with a white face, and Bellatrix stared back.

"I don't believe I understand what is going on…" Rabastan said, putting his fork and knife down.

"Andromeda?" Cyngus asked.

"A mudblood?" Walburga said, sounding scandalized. "Sirius, if I hear something like this about you, I'll whip you raw."

"There's plenty of mudblood girls in Gryffindor," Sirius pouted.

"As a healer," Lucius said slowly, glancing at Narcissa, who had a perplexed look plastered on her face. "I'm sure Andromeda must deal with every walk of life…"

Andromeda and Bellatrix were frozen, staring at each other. Andromeda's mouth hung open ever so slightly and Bellatrix looked to be holding her breath.

"Are healers now accosted in Diagon Alley?" Rodolphus murmured, sipping his wine and watching Andromeda. "Dark days, indeed."

"If one is needed," said Lucius, louder now, glancing between Narcissa and Andromeda. "I suppose a healer may be petitioned anywhere."

"But a mudblood?" Walburga teetered, almost enjoying the spectacle.

"I think Andromeda feels compelled to help anyone who requires –"

"I'm going to marry him," Andromeda said suddenly. The only sound was a short expelling of air from Bellatrix, who looked like she had just been slapped.

But the silence only lasted a second before the room exploded in shouts. Cyngus and his wife were out of their seats and screaming, as was Rabastan. Rodolphus slowly stood, too, but did not join in. Walburga was somewhere between cackling and sobbing.

Cyngus stomped around the table towards his daughter. Andromeda jumped onto her feet, fully aware of the furious gazes directed at her.

"You can't," Bellatrix screamed.

"What do you mean, Andie?" Narcissa cried.

Cyngus gritted his teeth. He had his wand in his hand. "No daughter of mine will –"

"Everyone out," Arcturus said in a firm voice that rose above the din.

Cyngus spun on his cousin. "Arcturus, this is my home and Andromeda is my –"

"Now."

Arcturus stared at Cyngus with a blank face. One long moment later, Cyngus, hands twitching, relented. Chairs were shuffled around and everyone filed out of the room. Not a few glares were cast at Andromeda, who stayed standing behind her chair.

Once the door was firmly shut behind the last departure, Arcturus settled down in his seat at the head of the table. He reached over and stabbed what was left of Cyngus' steak with his fork, lifting it onto his own plate. He pointed Andromeda to her seat and began cutting up the steak.

"Talk to me, Andromeda," he said after a few bites.

Andromeda sat down, staring at the table. "There's isn't anything to say."

"Take your time," he murmured, selecting a juicy slice and plopping it into his mouth. "How did it happen?" he asked around the bite of steak.

She ran a finger around the edge of her plate. "I don't know. I guess it started my last year at Hogwarts."

"After Rodolphus left," he said simply. He gulped down his bite with appreciation and moved on to the next.

Andromeda nodded. "We were prefects together. I would never have… I don't know how it happened… he surprised me. I let myself start thinking that he was different. And then, after Hogwarts, I just kept seeing him more and more."

"Why?"

She shrugged.

Arcturus refilled his wine glass. "If you have a problem with your match, I completely understand."

"I do," said Andromeda.

"Cyngus did not consult me when he decided on the Lestranges. If you wish to break your betrothal – if Bellatrix wishes to break her betrothal – you both will still be Blacks. You both will still be family – but not for a mudblood, Andromeda. You did not have to consort with such a man to protest your marriage. You could have come to me directly."

"I think I love him."

Arcturus grunted. "You will grow out of that. You will find a pure-blood –"

"I do love him,"

He set his fork and knife down on the table and fixed his blue eyes on her. "When you are young you think love is unique and special," Arcturus said softly. "You will learn that he isn't the only one to make you feel that way. You are a Black. Wait. Find someone who is worthy of you, Andromeda. Your father is not your patriarch. I'm telling you that you do not have to honor his arrangement."

"I'm pregnant."

Arcturus let out a breath and bowed his head. He sat in silence for a minute. "No one has to know. There are potions..."

"I'm a healer. I know."

"So why haven't you –"

"Because I love him."

The memory lurched violently, shifting out to the entry hall.

Arcturus was standing at the center of a quiet family. "Orion, I will need to visit Grimmauld Place."

"No," Narcissa said in a ghost of a voice, gripping her father's arm, looking to him with pleading eyes.

"Andie, you promised," screamed Bellatix.

Her voice started a roar of indiscernible shouts. Hermione's vision went blurry and dark momentarily, and then they were out front on the walkway up to the house.

Andromeda was at the gate to the street. The family had bundled out and crowded around the stoop, watching. Bellatrix was halfway between them, standing on an island. She was shivering – shaking. She had tears in her eyes and Andromeda reached out a hand towards her sister.

"Bella…" she said softly.

Bellatrix bared her teeth in a savage snarl. "Don't call me Bella. Only my sister can call me that." She reached into her boot and pulled the short dagger from its sheath. In a jerked motion, she cocked her arm and slung the blade at Andromeda. It twirled in the air, a blur of black and grey. A loud crack filled Hermione's ears, and the scene began to dissolve.

The sky, the trees, the buildings and then the people disappeared in quick succession. Hermione saw Bellatrix's rage-filled face fade, and then all that was left was the swirling mass of Andromeda – disapparating – and the dagger hurtling towards her. She vanished, and the dagger whirled past where she had been and through the chest of the on-watching Dumbledore, sailing out the back of him as if he were a thin cloud, and then it, too, was gone.

Hermione pulled out of the memory. The shimmering silver bowl danced with images she had just seen. She didn't want to look up at Dumbledore.

"What can you tell me about how Bellatrix changed between the first you saw of her and this?" he said.

Hermione gripped the edge of the bowl, the stone on her palms. "She grew up."

"Oh?" Dumbledore sounded amused. "What do you mean by that?"

"She's older."

"And what of her actions, her decisions?"

"Am I supposed to be on Andromeda's side?" Hermione asked, watching Narcissa receiving her birthday gift from her eldest sister in the bowl. "These are her memories. Is she proud of them?"

"What do you mean?"

"She gave them to you, didn't she? Did she think that they reflected well on her?"

Dumbledore floated over to his desk, taking his seat behind it. "These lessons centered around Bellatrix."

"I know." She saw Bellatrix flinging the knife on the surface of the liquid. Hermione couldn't find a way to despise her. She never had a sister, or anything close to it. She knew that trying to kill family was a terrible thing to do – Hermione just couldn't blame her.

"Things may be clearer next time," he said. "At this point I do not believe Bellatrix was in contact with Voldemort. We shall see what effect he had on her when we watch her trial."

"Are you going to blame everything on Tom?"

Dumbledore exhaled quietly. "Tom Riddle is to blame, Hermione. You saw yourself. Bellatrix was no evil child. She loved her sisters."

"She loved her sisters," Hermione repeated. "Did Andromeda?"

"Andromeda made her choice out of love. Bellatrix made hers out of spite."

Hermione twisted violently, turning her eyes at last to the old wizard. The pale light of the torches didn't illuminate him well. There were splotches of darkness and shadows among the wrinkles of his face. His hands were clasped together in his lap, and his robes hung off him and over the chair, making it more a throne than anything else. "You told me once that there is no right or wrong."

Dumbledore nodded. "I did."

"That evil and good were only in how and why people chose to do things."

He nodded again. "I did."

"Then there must be something to be said for integrity, too," said Hermione, one hand still clutching the stone rim of the bowl. "For what your word is worth."

"I agree."

"Sometimes you don't get the chance to make the choices you want."

"Yes."

"And that by itself doesn't make someone bad."

"Yes."

"So how can you use Bellatrix like this? You want me to beware of her? Of how she turned out?"

"I do."

"She didn't choose this!" Hermione heard her voice ring around the office, echoing around the empty spaces between the rafters and the high ceiling.

Dumbledore was still, the only movement the flickering light on his figure. The moments ticked by, and with them Hermione began to feel colder and colder. Like the warmth of the room was being sucked out by his silence. His disapproval. It felt as if the world had frozen over before he spoke.

"Bellatrix chose to torture two aurors to insanity. Relatives of hers – with their young child in the next room."

Hermione ground her teeth. There was no way she could forgive that. That was… but that didn't mean it was all her fault. Bellatrix had been through a lot, surely. She had been under pressure and just exploded. "She would never have been in that position if –"

"If what, Hermione?" Dumbledore said sharply. "If her sister had abandoned her child?"

"I'm not saying that. I'm just…" Hermione wavered. "Tom got to her through Rodolphus. Rabastan. Maybe her father."

"Undoubtedly."

"I'm just… maybe if she had someone else there with her she might have made a different choice. Or if they weren't there. Maybe if the choice hadn't been put to her, she wouldn't have made it. Maybe… maybe she shouldn't be blamed for what she was left with."

"Bellatrix Lestrange was marked as a Death Eater. She is a murderer. She is without a doubt one of the most corrupted souls alive. Tom Riddle made her that way."

Hermione refused to believe that. "It looked like she was already hurting before he stepped in."

"That is how he likes them."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

It was late. The halls were deserted, and the common room had not many more. Hermione made her way down the corridor to the girls' dorms and into the dark of her room. Everyone must have been asleep already. It was almost never dark when Hermione got back.

She was too tired to summon a light from her wand. She walked wearily towards where she knew her bed was. It came upon her quicker than she thought and she nearly ripped the curtains off the canopy when she almost fell into them. Hermione cursed quietly, kicked off her shoes, slipped out of her skirt and quickly unbuttoned her shirt. She didn't want to shower or get into her pajamas, she just wanted to sleep. She popped off her bra and slid into bed, sighing at the relief.

Hermione rolled over, reaching for her pillow, but not finding it. Her fingers hit skin – hair – and she heard muffled noises of annoyance. "Jesus," Hermione yelped.

"Oww," someone said pointedly.

"Daphne?" Hermione asked, then lowered her voice. "What the hell are you doing in my bed?"

"Your bed?" she said, the noise of friction on fabric telling Hermione that Daphne was sitting up. "This is my bed."

"No…" Hermione said.

"Yes."

Hermione waited for a moment, then she reached for the pillow that was under Daphne's head, expecting her second full-sized pillow. It was half-sized. Daphne's decorative pillow.

"Oh…"

"Yeah," said Daphne, moving around some more.

With a frustrated sigh, Hermione flopped back onto the bed.

"Long night?" asked Daphne.

"Yeah."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

"No," said Hermione. It felt like she had lived an entire other day in the memories. Her legs felt heavy, her eyes fell closed easily. But her mind couldn't get past what she had seen. "Can I ask you something?"

"Okay."

"If you had the chance…. Would you – and this is completely hypothetical, and I mean really, absolutely hypothetical – would you ever run away with me? And I'm using me as a stand-in for – for someone you love, as the closest approximation to the situation – would you run away with me if you could? Just get away. Leave your family, parents, Astoria… Draco."

She waited a moment before answering. "I don't see how that would accomplish anything."

"We'd be together," offered Hermione. "And by we I mean –"

"I understand the question," said Daphne. "And no, I wouldn't."

"And… what if you were pregnant?"

Hermione heard her sniff in laughter. "You can't get me pregnant, Hermione."

"Just suppose you got pregnant with the child of your lover."

"Same question?"

"Yes."

"And I assume that you are getting at me leaving Astoria to Nott?"

"Yes."

"No."

"You wouldn't run away with me?"

"No."

"Would you keep the baby?"

Daphne took another moment. "I can't answer that. I don't know…"

"Okay. I don't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything."

"You did grope me awake just now."

"Oh," said Hermione. "Yeah. Sorry."

"I'm awake now. If you want to grope me more…"

"Daph–"

"It was a joke," she said quickly – but not unbelievably. "It's a joke, Hermione. I know you're… not exactly like me."

Hermione swallowed thickly, another question bubbling up in her mind. "Okay. Can I ask you one more thing?"

"Yes."

"Would you… say you were in love with someone. But you were given a choice: you and Astoria could marry whomever you chose, except you could never be with that one person you loved. Or you could go with that person, and Astoria would marry Nott. Would you give up that person? For Astoria?"

"I think I would."

Hermione sighed. "If I had to have a sister… I wouldn't mind one like you."

"I don't want to be your sister," said Daphne. "But I think Astoria does."

"I suppose we might share her."

"You can have her entirely," she laughed. "Just look out for her." Then, "If you do really feel that way… it would mean a lot to her to hear it."

Hermione sighed. "What am I supposed to say? 'If you annoy Daphne as much as you buzz around me, I might as well think of you the same as she does'?"

"She'd understand what you mean," Daphne said quietly. "She's a bright girl."

"When she wants to be."

After a few moments of silence, Hermione chose to take her leave rather than wait in limbo. Daphne caught her wrist as she slid off the bed. "You make her want to," she said, "I really appreciate that." Daphne let go. Hermione just nodded, picked up her things and returned to her own bed.

* * *

 **I can't say that I'm back for good... but I am around for a little while longer. I've been quite busy with work and school. I've been focusing my writing time (such that it is) on some original stories and developing my skills. I hit the end of MMIV and stared into the darkness beyond, knowing it's only halfway done (if that), and I wasn't sure I could get to the end. Still not positive. It's a huge undertaking, especially with the little time I have.**

 **But I recently read through all your reviews and remembered how rewarding it is to put my work out there and get such positive responses. I really have to thank everyone who has left a review, followed, or favorited, and apologize for my tardiness.**

 **I do know almost exactly what I want to hit in years 5, 6, 7 and 8, but there's probably 200-300,000 words between here and there. I've gotten yall up to this point, so I want to make this (second) promise that I'll get back to the story.** **There's a big twist in the direction we're headed (someone is popping back into the picture, of course). The end of MMIV is about 85% there, I just need to mix and match one chapter together from my various scribblings over the weekend. So at the very least I can slap the "completed" tag on this bad boy and leave you on a nice cliff (not that you haven't been there this last year+).**


	14. The Final Task

**Chapter XIV**

 **The Final Task**

The third task was upon them faster than Hermione expected. The late spring evening was still chilly enough that Hermione wore a woolen jacket. The whole thing was more of an end-of-the-year party than any sporting event. Once the contestants were sent out into the maze, there wasn't much to be done in the stands other than socialize. People mingled and moved about, but the whole thing felt a bit deflated to Hermione. The culmination of the Tri-Wizard Tournament and they were just sitting in a semi-circle of bleachers, waiting.

There were many people about that weren't part of any of the three schools. There were goblins, scruffy looking people standing near empty cages, and a number of spectators just there for the show, such that it was, including the Malfoys. Narcissa took Draco into a hug and began talking to him. Mr. Malfoy stood a bit apart from them, standing in a pose that showcased his stylish black robes.

Draco was released by his mother and Narcissa waved at Hermione, who waved back. She then beckoned Hermione down from the stands. Reluctantly, Hermione walked down.

Narcissa placed her hands on Hermione's shoulders, kissing both her cheeks warmly. "Lovely to see you, dear," she said. "How are you?"

"My exams went well," said Hermione.

"Oh, I'm sure. But I want to know how you are, not how your exams went."

"It's been…" Hermione bobbed her shoulders, "Difficult."

Narcissa clicked her tongue. "It is such bad form, publicizing children's private lives."

"I don't even know – half of it isn't remotely true, and the other half is taken completely out of context."

"I've tried to have Lucius talk some sense into Ms. Skeeter. Once her claws get into a story, though, she doesn't usually stop. But I want to hear things from your perspective."

"What's to say?"

"It is a difficult situation, I am sure. And perhaps not one you fully understand. We, in your view, might be a bit antiquated. But what you do have to understand is that we aren't muggles, and what you might believe is right may not apply."

"I… I've come to understand the differences," said Hermione. "Somewhat."

"I must say I'm not pleased with how Draco has handled everything. Nor Lucius, but that is beside the point. He told me he didn't inform you until after an arrangement with Daphne was agreed."

"Yes," said Hermione sourly. "He didn't want to tell me."

"Nor should he, but he should have told you nonetheless. Things like this have no place being kept secret, especially from those we love."

"Love?" Hermione snorted. "I suppose love is for muggles."

"On the contrary," said Narcissa, "I feel like love is inherently magical. It does make you feel quite, hmm… elevated."

"Hardly seems room for it here."

"My sister had an arranged marriage," she said. "but I did not. I met Lucius on my own and I fell in love with him. It wasn't the most popular match in my family," she paused, slightly, "but Lucius proved himself a worthy man. I wanted him, and I got him. I see no reason why two intelligent young people can't choose for themselves who they wish to be with."

Hermione wasn't going to reveal that she had already seen Narcissa and Bellatrix's story. She got the same feeling in her gut that the Polyjuice had stirred. A feeling perversion, of intruding upon someone else without their knowledge or consent. Narcissa's life was her own, and Hermione had already seen some things she ought not to have.

"It doesn't seem that Draco is choosing for himself."

"No, but he is young and Lucius is insistent. I assure you, though, Hermione, that Draco will make the right choice. He does love you."

Hermione tightened her jaw and looked away. "Maybe I don't care anymore."

Narcissa sighed. "Hermione, don't your parents ever try to make a path for you? Don't they present you with options that you do not desire? It is hard to say no. If my father had insisted I let Lucius go, at your age, I don't know if I would have defied him. Yes, eventually I think I would have decided I knew best, but parents have a way of getting what they want in the short term."

Yes, Hermione had felt the weight of her parents' wishes. Vacations, dinners… but never betrothals. They would never press something like that on Hermione. "It's not the same," said Hermione. "He… he never even considered saying no."

"It was a school dance," she said, "when you were fifteen. Years down the road, it will mean nothing. Draco may not be the most intelligent when it comes to us girls, but he has a good heart, Hermione. Before you're all out of Hogwarts I am certain he and Daphne will come to some agreement. I don't know how she feels about all this, but I doubt she will be thrilled when Draco's feelings become obvious to her."

"Daphne isn't the problem," said Hermione, crossing her arms and looking away.

"Oh? Have you spoken with her, then?"

"A bit," said Hermione. "She doesn't want it, either."

"Then the whole thing will collapse on its own. You just have to remain patient."

"It won't," Hermione murmured. "Because as much as she doesn't like it, she's set on going through with the whole thing."

Narcissa frowned. "Whatever do you mean?"

Hermione cleared her throat. "She sees it as protecting Astoria from worse."

"Dear me," said Narcissa, putting a finger to her chin and tapping. "I would never think Nicolas and Olivia would do anything without their girls' consent."

"It's not about consent, it's about their loyalty to their parents. If Draco said no to Mr. Malfoy, what would happen? Would he force Draco into it?"

"I would never allow that," said Narcissa.

"But he hasn't said no."

She nodded.

"Because he thinks it is important to your family."

"I suppose."

"Daphne, too."

"Children," she shook her head. "They never think quite right."

"It doesn't help when their parents force their hand."

Narcissa looked pensive, staring out at the vast maze. Many moments went by, and Hermione decided the conversation was over. She slipped away behind Narcissa and moved along the front of the bleachers. Many people were out of their seats and milling around. The smell of barbeque floated on the air, though Hermione couldn't see any pillar of smoke around.

She drifted around until she was nearer the empty cages than anything else. Though she was intrigued with what exactly had been in them, she didn't relish going near any of the seedier handlers. The best dressed among them wore a worn blazer with giant holes showing through to his mud-smeared shirt beneath.

Next to the cages a collective of goblins huddled together. One held a ledger and a quill and the others were dictating and placing gold coins on it. The goblin with the ledger marked with his quill and slid the coins into a large bag. The practice continued for a long while, and some goblins exchanged coins without conferring with the bookie. Side-action, perhaps. Hermione watched intently until one of the goblins looked up at her and hissed.

"Granger," he said, making a gesture with his clawed hands that Hermione guessed was something rude. After a thought, she remembered him from Borgin and Burke's in the summer. He had the scars on his face and the iron earring. The goblin spat on the ground and walked off. The rest of the group eyed her cautiously before shuffling a few paces further away.

The thought of returning a rude gesture crossed her mind before a gentle hand patted her back. "Ignore him," the man said. He was tall but not lanky, with bright red hair pulled into a pony tail. He smiled warmly at her, and something about him made her lips curl in return. "Did I hear him call you Granger?"

"Uh," she stammered under his smile, "Yeah, yes, he did. I'm Hermione Granger."

"Ah. Then you know my brother Ron?"

Hermione's smile faltered. "Ron… Weasley?" She looked to his red hair.

"Yes. I've heard some things about you, I suppose." Hermione tried to find words to respond, but he continued. "I wouldn't pay him much mind. Boys are dumb, right?"

Hermione let out half a snort, then thought it undignified and flushed. "We aren't friends, if that's what you mean."

"Unfortunate," he said, "But not unsurprising. He's the youngest boy of six, so he's used to stoking confrontation. Bill Weasley, by the way. Sorry for not introducing myself." His handshake was strong, but not crushing.

"Nice to meet you," she said. "So… what was with that goblin? That's not the first time he's done that."

"Oh, Galmor? He's not having a great time of it. Gotten into some money trouble, some debts haven't come through for him. Mostly his own fault, but he's been on edge for a while now."

"So, uh, how do you know him? I didn't think goblins got chummy with wizards."

"Chummy? No. But I've done some work with him. I'm a Gringotts curse-breaker."

"Oh," said Hermione, suddenly rethinking her assumptions about the Weasleys. They weren't all losers, after all. "So, you're coworkers?"

A flash of red lit the evening sky. Sparks from the maze. "Oh, I hope that was Krum. Or Diggory," Bill said. "But Galmor managed one of my projects a few years ago. Not saying he wasn't good at it, but the Bank moved him to Account Management for a reason. Artifacts tended to go missing under his watch. Now he just oversees the L accounts. Langley, Lestrange, Longbottom, Lowe. Accounts with protections against theft, even from insiders."

"Huh," said Hermione. "I first met him at Borgin and Burkes."

"Yeah, that would figure," said Bill. "He got caught cheating at cards and owes some big money. Ludo Bagman owes him more than enough to cover it, but Bagman is a slippery fella and hasn't paid his dues. Galmor probably pilfered some trinket off the streets and pawned it off for some extra coin. Oh, damn."

Wizards on brooms had returned from the maze carrying the silvery robed figure of Fleur Delacour. They set her down in a chair and Madam Pomfrey revived her from her stunned state.

"I was rooting for her," said Bill. "Of course, only because I'm not sure Harry's up for it. It's a silly thing for a fourth year to compete in the Tournament."

"I don't know," said Hermione. "I think his problem is that he's too thick, not that he's too young."

Bill chuckled. "You are pretty cutthroat, aren't you? Ron was right."

Hermione frowned. "Don't listen to anything that boy says," she said, but Bill kept laughing.

"It's not all bad. He says you're wicked with a wand."

Hermione bit back a comment along the lines of 'a snail would be wicked compared to him'. That was Bill's brother, after all, and it would be a little rude to say such a thing.

"Ah, Miss Granger, how is the event treating you?" Ludo Bagman had appeared out of nowhere. "I was worried that our Harry had some trouble, but it was only Miss Delacour."

"It's fine," she said stiffly. Hermione suddenly remembering that the Daily Prophet was read by nearly the entire wizarding population, and that Bill Weasley had probably read about her in the newspaper, not heard about he from his brother. "I have to go," she said, walking away without a look back.

Hermione stopped in the shadow of one of the bleachers and just stood, watching people. Up in the stands the Gryffindors were being led by Seamus Finnegan in a chant supporting Potter. She saw Cho Chang babbling about Cedric Diggory to anyone who would listen, and the Beauxbaton section was arguing against Delacour's exclusion from the rest of the task.

Things settled down for a while until the headmasters converged with little fanfare, heads leaning together. Hermione watched them speak, Karkaroff making violent motions with his hands until another pair of wizards on brooms deposited Victor Krum and Karkaroff streaked over to him. The Durmstrang headmaster interrogated a dazed Krum.

Hermione heard Ludo Bagman gasp, holding his arm. "An old Quidditch injury," he reassured Bill Weasley, mocking a beater's swing with his left arm while still clutching it. "Still gives me some problems. Let me step away for a minute."

At the same time, Karkaroff abandoned Krum, beelining past Dumbledore to Snape. Moody was watching him, and took a pull from his flask. Karkaroff said a few words to Snape, and Snape responded just as shortly. Karkaroff stomped his foot, then, glancing around, sped off.

Snape and Dumbledore came together and spoke in low voices. Dumbledore turned to look at the maze several times. Moody limped to their side, pointing at where Karkaroff had run off. Dumbledore shook his head.

Lucius Malfoy announced loudly that he had a meeting at the Ministry. He kissed Narcissa's cheek and began walking away from the stands.

Minutes passed. The crowd continued just as before, but Hermione was watching the professors keenly now. Dumbledore had not taken his eyes off the maze. She wondered if he could see through the maze, if he was watching Harry right at this moment. It was Cedric against Potter now, with Krum and Delacour out. A Hogwarts victory was ensured, but Dumbledore did not look happy.

Hermione kicked a divot into the dirt. Other than Dumbledore's behavior, everything was going swimmingly. The Hogwarts sections were in full voice, cheering their champions on to the win. Rival chants for Harry and Cedric battled each other for audio supremacy, until there was a flash at the entrance to the maze.

Harry and Cedric both appeared, Harry holding the Tri-Wizard Cup.

As if the chants before were only a whisper, the stands exploded in rampant cheering, so loud Hermione winced. The Gryffindors redoubled their efforts and screamed Harry's name. Harry himself was kneeling over a laying Cedric, grabbing at his shirt, cup forgotten next to him.

Dumbledore hurried to his side, as did the other professors. More and more people rushed forward, and then there was a piercing scream that cut through the bouncing atmosphere. Amos Diggory pushed forward from the stands. Dumbledore and Moody pulled Harry off Cedric. The Hufflepuff champion was still laying in the dirt, unmoving. Madam Pomfrey rushed to his side and collapsed to her knees.

The chants and cheers began to waver, turn to other noise. There were shouts, screams. The voice of the crowd drained to a whimper. People pressed forward, trying to get a look through the bodies of the professors and support staff. Someone began wailing at the center of the mass of people around Harry and Cedric.

Around the stands, students were looking to each other, covering their mouths. Hermione could feel her heart beating beneath her chest. She didn't know what was going on, but she knew it was something bad. Hermione saw Professor Moody pull a tearstained Harry from the growing circle of people, wrestling him away and out of the semi-circle of stands and up towards the castle.

With one last look back towards the maze, Hermione followed.

* * *

 **Just making sure you know this is rated M. For future chapters. Warned**


	15. Confusion

**Chapter XV**

 **Confusion**

Hermione climbed the path up to the castle as fast as she could, but she couldn't catch up. Somehow Moody kept going with only one leg. She lost sight of them in the castle and guessed they would go to the hospital wing.

She reached the large doors and burst in. The hall was dark, empty. Hermione looked around, peered into Pomfrey's office, and even in the stockroom. They weren't there. And Pomfrey was still down at the maze, down with Dumbledore and Diggory… oh, god, Hermione thought. What happened to Cedric?

She dwelled on it for a moment, wondering what could have happened. It was just a maze, right? Some creatures were released in there, but nothing that could really hurt them, right? But Krum and Delacour were knocked out, at least. And Krum hadn't looked very with it when he woke.

Hermione shook those thoughts from her head. Where would Moody take Harry? To Dumbledore's office? Maybe, but Dumbledore was still down at… maybe to his own office? She dashed out of the hospital wing without closing the doors and sprinted full speed to the Defense classroom. The room itself was dark, but there was a light under the door to Moody's office. She tried the latch, but it was locked. She knocked on the door. She heard voices beyond the door, but it did not open. She knocked louder. "Professor? Harry?" she called, banging on the door. It did not open. She took her wand out.

An invisible rope wrapped around her waist and pulled her back. She tried to say something but she couldn't open her mouth. Three figures brushed past her. The door opened with a bang, and then a flash of red illuminated Moody's office. Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall entered the room. The rope slacked.

Hermione took a few steps forward. Harry was in a chair to the left in the office, and something was shaking in a chest to the right. Between them, on the floor, was Moody. Except his face was changing. Changing into someone Hermione thought… yes, she had seen him. She had seen him in someone else's memory. Weeks ago, in Dumbledore's memory. It was Barty Crouch Jr., who had been in Bellatrix's trial and sentenced to Azkaban with her.

Snape's black robes blocked her vision. She looked up into his face, shadowy and severe. "To the common room. Do not speak of this." Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but Snape flicked his wand and she felt the ropes again, this time turning her away on their own and marching her out of the room. The ropes dissipated after a minute and she was walking on her own power again. But Hermione was on autopilot to the common room, unable to put everything together.

She caught onto the end of the Slytherin line into the common room.

"You weren't trying to get into the middle of things again, were you?" Draco demanded the moment he saw her.

"Get in…?" she stuttered.

"You always get into trouble this time of year," he said.

Hermione snapped herself out of the daze and scowled. "Not that you care," she said, brushing past him to the couch where Daphne had her arm around Astoria. Hermione sat next to her. Astoria had her knees held to her chest, staring straight ahead. "Did… is Cedric…" Hermione couldn't say it, but Daphne nodded. Hermione across Daphne to Astoria. Stray hairs fell across the girl's face. "It's going to be okay…" She didn't even know what she was saying. "Do you need some water?" Astoria shook her head.

The common room was filled with constant murmurs. Students were looking around uneasily. The ominous feeling Hermione had was obviously shared by many others.

Draco sat down on Hermione's other side. He coughed and rolled his shoulders. "I do care." When she ignored him, he said, "I do. Hermione. Did you hear me?"

"Yes," she muttered.

"I know… I know I made a mistake, okay? A big one. But I can make it right. It's not like… I haven't cheated on you or anything."

"Can't cheat when we're not together," she said.

"Hermione," he whined, "Don't be like that. It's complicated."

"I know it is."

"So why are you being like this?"

"Because you deserve it."

Snape appeared from the entrance hall. The room fell to silence. For several seconds, the only noise was the crackling of the fireplace.

"Regretfully, I must inform you that one of your peers has passed away tonight," he said, holding up a hand to stifle the breakout conversations from continuing. "All I can say now is that a service will be held at the end of the year, curfew is in effect until tomorrow morning, and everyone must return to their dormitories now. I expect all of you to comply within five minutes." With that, Snape withdrew.

Some headed off to bed immediately, others hesitated. Soon enough, though, the common room filtered out. "Let's go," Daphne stood. Astoria didn't move, so Daphne said, "You can sleep with me tonight, just like we used to."

Astoria looked up. "Really?"

Daphne smiled and nodded.

"Okay," said Astoria, standing. "You coming, Hermione?"

Hermione tried standing, but her body didn't respond. No. Her body tried, but it couldn't. Like ropes were tying her down. She glanced around the room. "Oh… I'm going to sit here for a little while. I'll see you in a bit."

Within a few minutes there were only a couple people left in the common room. Draco, though, was still there, sitting next to her. He took a deep breath. "Maybe I do deserve it," he said, "but I still love you." Hermione chanced a glance over at him. His cheeks were lit bright red. "Just let me have a chance to make things right."

Stuck on the couch, as she was, Hermione didn't have much choice but to respond. "How?"

"I'll…" he said, "I'll tell father I won't do it."

"You should have done that before."

"I know."

"You still haven't apologized."

"I'm sorry," he said quickly.

"For what?" she asked petulantly.

"For being stupid. And dumb."

She sighed. "Anything else?"

"I should have told you about everything sooner. It wasn't right to keep you in the dark."

"Been talking with your mother?"

Draco shrugged.

"She's a lot smarter than you are. But at least you listen."

"So…"

"You have your chance," she said.

"Really?"

"Don't fuck up."

"I won't," he said, grabbing her hand.

Fortunately, the ropes hadn't locked her arms in place, so she pulled her hand away from him "We aren't nearly there yet."

"Oh," he said. "Okay. I get it." They sat together in silence, the last two in the common room. "You going to bed?"

"Soon enough," said Hermione. "You go on ahead." Perhaps it might not have worked before, but Draco rightly considered himself on thin ice, so he did as told. Not half a minute after he left, Snape emerged from the shadows. Hermione sat dully and watched the fire crackle. He stood above her silently.

"Was this necessary?"

"Best to be inconspicuous," he said softly

Hermione felt the ropes slack and she stood. "I don't like it. Not at all."

"What you like or do not like is none of my concern," he said. "Dumbledore would like to see you." He turned and swept out of the common room.

Hermione trudged out and through the dark, deserted castle. Dumbledore's office opened for her and she found him leaning over the pensieve, the bluish light illuminating every wrinkle on his face. Many minutes went by, but Hermione knew he knew she was there, and every minute chaffed. She began tapping her foot, but he made no indication that he noticed or cared. It must have been a quarter hour before he stirred, pressing at his eyes with his thumb and middle finger. He sighed and ambled over to his desk.

"I fear my timeline was sorely mistaken," he said in a hollow voice. "Voldemort has returned, and we are not nearly ready."

Hermione felt a warm and prickly feeling spread along her skin. She couldn't help a little shiver.

"I have much to do, so I will make this brief. In the event that the Malfoys, or any of his Death Eaters, approach you with any intent, I am willing to offer you and your family protection."

"But the Malfoys love me."

Dumbledore picked up a quill and scribbled a note. "What you believe their feelings towards you were before is of no consequence now. Voldemort changes everything."

"They wouldn't let anything happen to me."

"Perhaps they wouldn't desire it, but you have no guarantee that they have any say anymore. If Voldemort targets you – if anyone targets you – I sincerely doubt Lucius Malfoy will intervene on your behalf."

"I don't really understand, sir," she said. "Why would they come after me?"

"Any number of reasons, Hermione. You are a muggleborn in Slytherin. You are involved with the young Mister Malfoy. You have shown yourself to be a talent in multiple fields of magic. And perhaps word will leak that you and I have been spending an amount of time together not usual of headmaster and student. Tom will inevitably see you as either an asset or a target. And before you get any ideas – his assets, in time, inevitably turn into his targets."

"What are you saying?"

"Even in the good graces of a madman, there is incredible danger. Do not become Bellatrix, Hermione. Her mistakes could just as easily become your mistakes. You are meant for good things, Hermione. I do believe that."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

Astoria wore one of Daphne's night shirts, a greyish-green silky thing, but it was too big so it looked more like a dress. She was curled up against her big sister, dozing peacefully. Daphne stroked her hair with an elegant wooden-handled brush. "She fell asleep before I was done," she said. "One side of her head will have to be messy, I suppose."

Hermione sat on the edge of Daphne's bed and put a hand on Astoria's shoulder. "He's back," Hermione said.

"Who?"

"You-Know-Who," said Hermione, not willing to call him anything else at the moment.

"How do you know?" Daphne stared at her.

"Snape told me," she lied, but it was a meaningless lie.

Daphne returned to brushing Astoria's hair. "Is he sure?"

"Seemed so."

Daphne put the brush down and cuddled Astoria. "How did it go with Draco?"

"Fine."

"I'm glad," she said.

"They say the Malfoys follow him."

Daphne nodded slowly.

"What does that mean for you and him? Your family and theirs?"

Daphne said nothing. She kissed Astoria's forehead and laid her head down, eyes still fully open.

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

Hermione sat through the service without once looking at Dumbledore. He announced Voldemort's return, but Hermione could only think about Tom Riddle, the boy she had met. Oh, she hadn't trusted him then. But she was naïve then. Young and innocent, and she didn't know the Malfoys then, or the Greengrasses. She didn't know anything about pureblood society, or anyone who had followed him.

The Malfoys had been nothing but welcoming to her. Narcissa considered her a daughter, almost, and Draco loved her. Bellatrix, though she had been pushed to the edge, hadn't been a bad person before her sister left her alone with the Lestranges. Daphne was a pureblood, but Hermione could do nothing but praise her morals. Most of all, she trusted all of them to care for her. Dumbledore said she'd be in danger, but he's the one who had never really trusted her, or understood her. His lessons were designed to turn her against her friends, but they had only cemented her feelings.

So when Draco brought the topic up on the Express back to London, Hermione didn't hesitate. "I'm with you."


	16. Make Thick Thy Blood

**Chapter XVI**

 **Make Thick Thy Blood**

Hermione found Lucius Malfoy in Borgin and Burke's. He was standing in front of Hermione's King Arthur collection. The collection was incomplete now. Lancelot's sword and Guinevere's necklaces were still there, but Arthur's crown and the Holy Grail were gone. Hermione supposed that someone must buy things here, or else it would go out of business.

"You are early," he said without looking up.

"I guess," she replied. "The bus made better time than usual."

He grunted. "You are ready, then?"

Hermione nodded. He held out his arm. Hermione grabbed it, and he apparated them away. They walked up the gravel path to the manor in silence. The sun was setting behind the hedge rows.

The front door opened before they reached it. Professor Snape came out and stopped mid-stride when he saw them. His eyes darted between Hermione and Lucius.

"Ah, Severus," Lucius said, "Mustn't keep your master waiting. Dumbledore might start wondering where his dog has gotten to."

Without a word, Snape shot a mocking, squinty look at Lucius and was on his way.

Directly inside was Villy, standing at attention. "Master!" he cried softly. "Miss Hermione!"

Hermione smiled at him and waved. Villy seized upon her travel bag and started lugging it upstairs, but Mr. Malfoy flicked his wrist at the elf. "Later. See to our guests now." Villy blinked and watched them from the third step.

The house itself was in a somber mood. With the sun set and few lamps shedding light down hallways and stairs, it was distinctly dark. Lucius strode meaningfully down the hall next to the main stairs and through the double doors to the dining room. Hermione followed at a distance.

Draco had told his parents of Hermione's choice, and they had invited her to their home over the summer. Hermione agreed, but it was some time before she heard from them again. She had been holed up in Watford. Waiting. Reading the Prophet. There was not one word about Tom, nor, indeed, herself, but pages upon pages smearing Potter and Dumbledore. The Ministry seemed to think it all a hoax, a power grab, or something between the two.

Almost bewilderingly, subsequent "impossible" escapes from Azkaban were consigned to the back pages. The Prophet blamed Sirius Black for the breakout of, among others, the Lestrange family, no doubt using Dumbledore's Voldemort rhetoric to regroup support for the Dark Lord. The Prophet rubbished the notion that Voldemort was back, of course – though managing not to mention Voldemort or any Dark Lord in text.

Hermione finally received a letter in mid-July. Lucius wrote her to arrange a pickup later in the month. Draco also wrote her informing her that there would be other _guests_. He took extreme pains to not to name them, but made sure she understood that it would be a _high-profile_ event.

So she wasn't completely taken aback when she stepped into a room with six fugitive dark wizards. The first she recognized was near the door, cowering in the dark corner. She may not have seen him but for the reflections of the fireplace in his silver hand. Hermione flinched back from Peter Pettigrew, nearly drawing her wand. He whimpered and drew further away from her. Hermione quickly passed him and followed Lucius forward.

This room was dark as well, lit only by sparse lamps on the walls and healthy flame under the mantle. A long table stood at the center, with the fireplace at one end. Along the table were seated figures that she recognized. Edward Nott looked as displeased as ever, sitting next to two large men that resembled two large Slytherins that Hermione knew. She saw Draco nearest the fireplace, and he smiled at her. Narcissa was there, too, and others she didn't know. Hermione was surprised, too, to see Nicholas Greengrass, comparatively small and unimposing in this company. He sat very still and was intent on watching the table.

Past these, further from the fire and less well lit, Hermione screwed up her eyes to identify faces from the Prophet. Augustus Rockwood, Rabastan Lestrange and his brother. Sat at the head of the table, a figure whose face was shadowy, and at his shoulder stood a woman Hermione recognized even in the poor light by her mess of hair: Bellatrix Lestrange. Every few moments the flicker of flames would illuminate her grinning face, more unsettling in person that in Dumbledore's memories.

"My lord," Lucius said, bowing to the shadowy figure, "Hermione Granger."

So it was Tom. Hermione had worried, wondered, wished for this. Tom had wanted her as a child, he would want her now, too.

He raised a pale hand and gestured with his long fingers for her to step forward. Lucius retreated past her, taking a seat further down the table.

"I am told you are close to Harry Potter." His voice was cold, airy – unlike the Tom she had talked with. And he said it like a threat.

"Oh, no," Hermione said quickly. "Only by proximity, and not by choice."

"Oh?" he said, and waited.

"I… we seem to run into each other," she said. "It's not like I like him. I don't. Really. Him and Weasley annoy me to no end. Really."

Tom rotated his wrist so that the bones cracked louder than the fire. "As with Dumbledore?"

Hermione couldn't help a moment of cold panic deep in her chest. It took her a second to move her mouth again. "What of him?" she choked out of her dry mouth.

"Child, do not dance around when I question you. I will know your answers, so speak straight the first time."

"I…" Hermione hesitated. Snape had been here just earlier. No doubt Tom already knew Dumbledore had given her lessons. It made no sense to protest. "He promised to teach me. After last year, he didn't want me to talk about Sirius Black –" Bellatrix almost barked, a snapping, cutting noise. Tom raised his hand, silencing her, and then gestured for Hermione to continue. "He didn't want Fudge to know about Sirius or anything about that night, which is to say, when –"

"I have heard from Peter," he interrupted.

"Oh, of course," Hermione said, glancing momentarily over her shoulder to the man in the corner. "In exchange for telling his version of the story, he would give me private lessons."

"Lessons of what?"

"Nothing," she said. "Well, they were supposed to help me. Teach me advanced magic. But he was only interested in manipulating me. He wasn't helping me at all."

Tom stared at her. Hermione thought back to Dumbledore's lessons, trying to recall if he had taught her anything, after all. But she only remembered the memories he showed, the lectures on morality, and the meeting the night of the third task.

"You are not here on his orders?"

Hermione shook her head emphatically. "He wanted to keep me away from you."

The Dark Lord let out a long hiss, something Hermione imagined a snake would sound like if it were to laugh. The sound faded until there was silence. Behind him, Bellatrix licked her lips and stared blatantly at Hermione. Hermione felt sweat drip down the small of her back, though the room was strangely cool for a summer day.

"She is convincing," Tom said at last. "is she not, Augustus?"

A stooping man several seats down stirred. He had blotches on his neck, like the marks of a swift shave that Hermione had seen on her father from time to time. His hair had been sheered close, unlike the stringy hair of his photo in the Prophet. "I might suspect a memory charm, Lord," he said. "Dumbledore is more than capable."

Tom murmured agreeably.

"Severus said nothing of the kind–" Narcissa cut herself off and stared straight across the table at nothing.

"There are questions over Severus, my dear," Lucius said.

"My apologies," she whispered. "I should not have spoken."

Tom didn't pay attention to the Malfoys. "But nothing from your contacts in the Ministry?"

Rockwood sat back in his chair. "Those I trust within the Ministry, even in the Department, are numbered few. But even for Dumbledore, I think it is too desperate a move to involve this girl." He put a hand to his forehead and rubbed his fingers against his temples. "In any case, I doubt she could hide her intentions from you, Lord, were she aware of them or not."

At last, Tom nodded slowly. "I am satisfied." From within his robes he produced a thin, pale wand. "Approach."

Hermione jerked forward, awkward at first, but slowing herself enough to hopefully appear calm. Her insides were screaming incoherently, her heart between panic and ecstasy. This was the moment. There was no choice now that Tom had decided. She would be marked, just like in the last war. Her fate would be tied to his. Draco's bright face at the other end of the table was all she needed to be confident that she was being inducted into a new family, one that would value her for her abilities. Blood could be overcome. Blood was only what flowed through her veins. Magic flowed through her soul and that was all Hermione needed.

She held her forearm out and waited for a pinch, a burn, some sensation she could bite down and show that she was as strong as any pureblood.

Bellatrix let out a long, winded cackle. Her eyes were wide and jubilant. "The dog thinks she's one of us."

Murmurs of laughter spread down the table.

Hermione looked around. Gleeful, cruel faced greeted her.

Above it all – or below it – she heard Tom's hissing laugh. When she turned back toward him, his wand pointed at her chest. " _Crucio_!"


	17. The Cathar Cross

**Chapter XVII**

 **The Cathar Cross**

" _Legilimens_."

Hermione's memories streamed unbidden into her consciousness. Dumbledore's face, pale in the darkness with only a blueish light illuminating his crinkled face. She saw Moody and Harry walking up to the castle. She saw Bill and Bagman and goblins, and then she saw Narcissa, smiling. Narcissa smiling and hugging her.

Flashes of the year went by. She caught the face of Harry, the memories of Bellatrix and Andromeda. She remembered Daphne's smooth skin drawn across her tongue as Hermione kissed her belly, Daphne's fingers catching in her hair, the warmth of her body pressed against her own. Hermione wanted to vomit, but not even that reflex was within her control.

She remembered Daphne's movements, sounds, and all at once they were replaced by the screams of Pansy as she writhed on the floor. The flickering of the goblet passed in an instant, swapped for the fire Dumbledore had swept from torch to torch during their first lesson. She could have relieved that whole night, but she didn't remember once it had passed. Days in the Watford Library zoomed by, forgotten as easily as they had once the summer ended.

Peter Pettigrew. She remembered him, and his blue light that ripped her apart. She remembered, in detail now, how the dementors had flown overhead. She remembered when Lupin turned, when Snape and Sirius Black fought each other, how Pettigrew was a rat and Black was a grimm, and how she had imperiused both of them.

She felt someone's arms around her. A comforting restriction, warmth of affection. Draco was holding her, and they were together. He kissed her and she let him do things to her. She remembered how he made her feel special. And then it passed.

Tom Riddle stood before her; handsome, brilliant. He smiled at her and called her beautiful. Hermione tried to kill Ginny. It was the only way to stop him. But before that, she wanted to go with Tom. To be with Tom.

The diary wilted, and Ginny survived.

Her Polyjuice potion, brewed at the entrance of the Chamber without knowing it.

Receiving her first Hogwarts marks in the post. She had celebrated with her parents.

Snape's talk with her, first year. So long ago but so real in this moment.

Arriving at Hogwarts, being sorted. Picking Slytherin. Choosing Slytherin.

The memories streamed from all the way back into primary school. Her books, her teachers. That boy she made fun of because he couldn't do arithmetic. The one with the freckles and the curly hair. It all came back to her and then was whisked off, leaving her mind as if swept away by a broom.

Somewhere in her childhood it stopped. She didn't quite remember when it stopped, in her memories or now in the present. She gradually became aware of herself, laying on cold, hard stone.

"An intriguing girl," came a smooth voice. "Perhaps an excuse for Draco's attachment." There was a pause. "But perhaps not. A stupid girl, after all is said and done. You shouldn't have let anything come of it. The boy may be troubled by all of this."

"He is a Malfoy, Lord," said another voice. "This was… nothing but a passing hobby."

A woman's laughter echoed around the walls. "Then have him end it, when the time comes." Hermione couldn't still be in the dining room. The voices echoed off walls too close to be a large room. She didn't remember being moved – though, she didn't remember much of anything beyond the pain. Hermione must have passed out sometime after the third Cruciatus.

"He's only a boy."

"Have you softened," the woman said, "after all these years living the good life? Sacrificing _nothing_?"

"It was your sister who encouraged the boy. I wanted nothing to do with it."

"You let it happen," the smooth voice said again. "Do you say you have no qualms with where things have led?"

"None, Lord. You are here, after all. I could not have wished for more."

The woman snickered again. Hermione heard a scuff near her head. A boot slammed into her gut. Hermione coughed violently, clutching at her abdomen, but the pain blossomed everywhere. Her arms and legs, her chest, her head and her back. Her whole body ached now, and she had trouble breathing. Hermione rolled onto her back, struggling to get air into her body. She saw the woman above her. The woman she thought she knew. Bellatrix Lestrange.

She leered at Hermione before turning to the others. Tom Riddle, no longer handsome but bald and pallid, stood passively, staring down at Hermione with cold eyes. Then, he gestured with his arm. "Show me."

Lucius Malfoy stepped into her sight. His blond hair was bright, and he stood as tall as ever. She saw Draco in his face, in his eyes. She didn't understand. "Why?" she whispered. After everything, why did they do this to her? Hermione was one of them - she _wanted_ to be one of them. They were like her family. What she would have done for them...

His face was taught when he pointed his wand at Hermione. " _Crucio_."

She tried screaming. Screaming so loud that it would block out the pain. But it didn't, and after a while, she gave up. He lungs wouldn't respond, anyway. They were trying too hard to keep her alive even as every other inch of her body begged for death.

After Tom was satisfied by Lucius' resolve, they left. But Bellatrix stayed. She didn't say anything. She just took out her knife. The same knife Hermione had seen in her sister's memory. Bellatrix knelt over Hermione and seized her arm.

Hermione felt like over-boiled pasta. Her arm just dangled in Bellatrix' grasp. She tried moving something – anything – but her muscles didn't respond. Hermione was limp, completely at her mercy. And in as much pain as she was, she still felt the knife split her skin and dig into her flesh. She felt every slice and curve of the blade as Bellatrix made her mark on Hermione, not just on her arm, but burned into her memory. _Mudblood_.

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

Hermione lay in the pitch-black cell and tried to stay as still as possible. Every inch of her body ached. Her mouth was devoid of moisture; her stomach hadn't been filled in days and felt like a bottomless pit sucking away what energy she had left. A shiver ran down her body and lasted so long it threatened to explode into a full-blown seizure. The shaking woke up the nerves on her left arm, which promptly exploded into new throbbing pain.

She forgot how to count the seconds she was conscious. Silence and darkness stripped time of its meaning. Sometimes it felt like days passed before Bellatrix returned. Other times, it was hardly a blink of an eye. But Hermione always expected her to return. The moment of blinding light as the crazed witch entered the cell became at the same time terrifying and consoling. It meant that the world still existed beyond her realm of suffering.

Hermione waited to get used to the Cruciatus curse. In her solitude, she remembered where she had felt the pain and thought of ways to ignore it. But always the pain came in new places. Unexpected, unprepared, soft and weak places. Hermione could only find soft and weak places in herself, now. Her will to fight the pain eroded with each stab and spasm. Her only strength left was in her mind. When Bellatrix entered, Hermione promised herself she'd fight the torture this time. She wouldn't give in. But every time she couldn't hold back from screeching and begging for it to stop, she felt a little less sane.

Bellatrix also wasn't after memories, like Tom had been. Seeing her life before her eyes had its benefits. Hermione could think. Think about where she went wrong and where she could go from here – if there were anywhere _to_ go, anywhere she _could_ go. The familiar images kept her grounded. She knew who she was in those memories. She didn't, so much, know who she was right now. She only knew how fucked she was, and couldn't think much beyond that simple fact.

Once or twice she thought she noticed other people in the room. Not Bellatrix, and not torturing her. But she was barely lucid those times, and it was pitch black. She thought she heard a voice asking her something. Hermione didn't know what it said. At first, she ignored it, but after an age of feverish visions of an empty room, a disembodied voice and continual dizziness, she decided that God may answer her, if it was no one else. Hermione wasn't religious. Her parents taught her that all the answers she needed were in books with good bibliographies, not books with dubious authorship. Still, she couldn't discount the possibility. After all, eleven years of reason were toppled by the strange appearance of a Scottish witch on her front lawn. She'd seen dragons and trolls and shapeshifters and werewolves. A spirit with a will and ability to help her wasn't out of the question. So, with no shame whatsoever, Hermione said into the darkness, "Please help me."

It was as if a huge weight left her body. She felt a calm take hold, and she drifted into half-sleep, still knowing that she'd be dead whenever they pleased. But it felt nice to think someone would save her. She couldn't think of anyone else who would.


	18. Pureblood Hospitality

**This chapter is definitely M.** **Sexual Violence.**

* * *

 **Chapter XVIII**

 **Pureblood Hospitality**

Hermione's dark solitude was interrupted by a click and a blinding light. The door opened, then closed. Hermione heard a few footsteps before a torch in the room jumped to life. Hermione's heart went into overdrive. She couldn't handle any more, she thought to herself. Maybe this time was the last. Maybe they were done with her. But, deep down, Hermione knew they were not. She knew that Bellatrix was not.

She lay perfectly still, holding her breath. A pair of brown boots and a hem of a black robe stood in front of her. It was not Bellatrix. Not Bellatrix. Hermione couldn't figure out if she was relieved or not. It wasn't Bellatrix – so who was it? One of the boots prodded her heavily in her stomach and she convulsed. Her eyes tilted up to see the face of Rodolphus Lestrange.

He wasn't young like she had seen him before. He had a shabby beard and his hair was ragged, too. His face was thin, his eyes sallow. And he stared at her. The room was cold, and Hermione shivered.

"Such a pity," he said. "I had hoped you would wear a skirt."

Something about that sentence shocked Hermione into movement. She pushed herself along the floor away from him until she hit the wall.

Rodolphus didn't follow, but he crouched down to her level and stared at her. "You remind me of Bella. The hair… the hips…" He put a finger to his lip. "There was a Ravenclaw, too… I couldn't help myself… the swish of their skirts made me…" he shook his head. "I've been dreaming of nothing but Hogwarts these last few years… what little the dementors left me with."

He took a step closer and Hermione pushed herself further into the wall. He bared his teeth. "Girls always try to cover up when they find a boy seeing too much. I like it when they do that. The imagination is more powerful than the eyes. If you get everything you want up front, you can only be let down by what you get."

Hermione was in a cold panic. Her mind spun around her, trying to spit out an answer to this question. A solution to this problem. But there were no multiple choices to be whittled down. She couldn't remember her notes. The book text didn't spring to her mind. She had nothing in this situation. Nothing but panic at the thought that–

Quicker than Hermione could react, Rodolphus leaned over her, seized a clump of her hair and yanked savagely on it. Hermione cried from the pain as he pulled her onto her feet by her hair. She grabbed for his hand, but his thick fingers closed around her throat and shoved her against the wall.

"If you work for it, if everything isn't so easy and perfect…" Hermione could feel his hot breath on her skin, even from a foot away. "There is wonder and pleasure in seeking it out." Rodolphus touched a fingertip to his tongue and then circled it around his lips.

"Is that what you did to Bellatrix?" Hermione said hoarsely, words her only device to fight back. "Trick her into your room so you could rape her?"

Rodolphus tilted his head and pursed his lips, as if struck by the accusation. " _Rape_ her…" he mused. He wasn't staring at her anymore, but looked off into the stone wall. He scratched his chin and stepped away a pace. Hermione breathed deeply while she had the chance. " _Rape_ her… I'd never hurt my beautiful Bella…" He broke into a smile and looked back at Hermione. "She did need to learn what she liked. I remember that." He said cheerily, and nodded to himself. "But rape… no, I don't do _that_."

Hermione choked out a sob. "You're trying to now…"

"Oh, pretty, dirty girl," he giggled, "you misunderstand. You can't _rape_ a muggle, or any of their spawn. Muggles are cattle, livestock. They are meant to be owned. And you can't rape what you own." Rodolphus moved closer again, his mouth to Hermione's ear. He whispered, "Besides, soon I'll be done trying, and get to the doing."

Thoughts of resistance, any belief that she could fight back, washed away. She knew her body was too weak to fight. Her mind, too, was ready to give up. There was nothing left to do but beg. "Please don't."

"Ah. So we are here so quickly."

Rodolphus stepped away again. He seemed to relish Hermione's terror. He circled the room, then conjured a chair in the middle and sat, tucking his wand away in his robe. "There was a family," he said, tilting his head back as he recalled, "during the war. Must have been my first time out on my own. A witch and her muggle family." He bared his teeth and breathed out loudly. "'Get out of my home', she said first. She was defiant," he shrugged. "She had her wand and thought that it was enough. But I had my own, and I was more than a match. 'The Aurors will come,' she said when I didn't flee. She wanted me to know the consequences reached beyond her power – some retribution would be had."

He scowled. "They _did_ get me, but not for this. I didn't care about the Aurors then, so she tried to appeal to my emotions – tried to make me feel for her little dirt family in their little dirt home. But how could I care about muggles and half-blood runts? It made my blood boil that a witch would stoop so low. So, when she realized that she couldn't overcome me, when she realized that I didn't care for the consequences, when she realized I meant to end her family, what did she do? She started begging. 'Please, don't.'

"So, when you say _please don't_ , it makes me wonder. You know what I want, and you know you cannot resist me. Why, then, are you shivering over there? All you need to do is come over here. Sit on my lap. Be a good girl. I can be gentle. I can give you a new shirt, a nice skirt, clean socks. You just have to be a good little school girl, do as you're told, drop your knickers and sit down right here."

He waited. Tapped his foot.

"Do I have to count to three?"

Hermione wouldn't do it. She was sure of that. She'd rather die than – no, she'd claw his eyes out and kick and scream and then she'd kill him. She'd kill him somehow. In this life or the next, Hermione would return and…

"One."

…there would be no punishment enough for him. She'd haunt him, follow his spirit wherever it went. She'd be a ghost with a vengeance, and it would be her death's goal to cause as much pain as she could.

"Two."

She lifted her chin as proudly as she could and spat. It came out pitifully. Her mouth was dry. She hadn't had a drink in… she didn't know how long. A small drop of spittle dripped down her chin.

"Three," he said flatly, standing up. As he stepped to her, Hermione threw her arm in a vicious slap. It didn't hit. He caught it with on hand, then his other shot for her throat again.

Hermione struggled for breath, pulling on his wrist. She felt him press his body against hers, forcing her harder into the cold, rough stone wall. She tried pushing him away but felt like she was trying to move Hogwarts Castle with a single finger. Her arms felt weak, hollow. She felt him clawing at her and the next second his fingers were under her dirty shirt, digging into her hip. Hermione tried swatting his hand away but he ignored her. His hand ran up her body, squeezing at her breast. Hermione tried to scream but couldn't. Her stomach rolled, and she knew that if she had eaten anything in the last few days she would have been vomiting.

His hot breath assaulted her cheek. His hand wormed into her bra. Hermione sobbed and pulled at his hand. The sore pain he inflicted as he pinched at her nipple was nothing compared to the feeling of helpless terror. Bellatrix's knife was nothing compared to how he touched her body, how he defiled the most intimate actions with crude, violent satisfaction. She was his object. He started fondling her other breast and leaned in close. Hermione shook uncontrollably, tears beginning to pour as she felt the slimy sensation of his tongue on her neck.

Hermione gave up trying to keep his hands off her and swung her own at him. Her fingers connected with his face and she dug in with her nails. She was rewarded with a curse and a swift fist to the gut. Hermione doubled over, couched and crying.

Rodolphus seized her and shoved her face first against the wall. "Like it rough, huh?" He thrust his hips up against her backside and let out a satisfied grunt. "You like it when purebloods take you?" he breathed, an arm around her chest and another fumbling at her waist. "Maybe you know you're only good for being used like this."

"Stop," Hermione sobbed, "Please stop!"

She felt the loosening of her jeans on her hips as he managed to pop out the button. She tried pulling herself away once more, but he wrapped both arms around her and held her close. He lifted her away from the wall and tugged her jeans down. Hermione heard a telltale zip and she felt faint. "Draco says you like being taken like a dog," he whispered, forcefully bending Hermione at the waist. A single hand pressed into her back to keep her there. Hermione felt _him_ against her bare skin. "Let's see how loud I can get you to beg."

His hand slipped away to her hips and Hermione had a chance. She sprung herself straight, twisted around, throwing every ounce of strength she had left into her elbow.

It sounded like someone snapped their fingers. Hermione felt the heavy impact in her elbow, then it just _happened_.

Rodolphus cried, flew back and crashed against the wall on the far side of the cell.

Ignoring everything else, Hermione charged him. She slammed her shoulder into him as he started to slide down the wall. Hermione seized the sides of his head in her hands and wrenched him forward, and then put the entire weight of her body into throwing him back against the wall, screaming incoherently as his head cracked against the stone. The impact of the wall jarred her hands, but she pulled back and smashed his head into the wall again and again and again. Ten times she threw his head. She did it until her arms were heavy and she had lost her voice. His body slipped down the wall to a sitting position.

The room was silent except for her panted breaths. She let go of his head. Her hands were slick with fresh blood, and the wall dripped red. Hermione fell backwards onto the cold ground and stared at the limp body. And then at the door. Surely someone had heard her screaming? Surely someone was going to bust down the door and end it all.

Hermione waited, almost hopeful for the end. But as the seconds passed, she heard nothing. No footsteps, no voices. She was alone with his body. His blood. With a whimper, Hermione wiped her hands on his robes. Hesitant at first, then with more force. It wouldn't come off, not completely. Some of it had already dried on her hands, caked in the creases of her skin. She rubbed more violently against the robes and her hand passed over something hard and thin in his robes.

 _His wand_ , Hermione realized. Blood forgotten, she ripped open his robes and seized upon the dark wooden rod. It was bulky, too big, awkward in her hand – but it was a wand. She had a wand.

"Miss Hermione…"

Hermione yelped at the voice, spun and pointed the ugly wand into the dark corner where it had come from. First she saw the reflection of the torch in two round eyes, then Villy the house elf stepped tentatively into the light.

"Villy…" Hermione whispered. She didn't know what to do. Villy could stop her. He had elf magic, and he was the Malfoy's elf. But his movements were jerky, and he had his fingertips in his mouth. He whimpered slightly, and Hermione wondered if he was actually biting himself.

"Villy is ashamed," he said, his words garbled as they came out around his fingers. "This is not the hospitality of the great house of Malfoy." He squeaked, then charged the wall to his left headfirst. He bounced off it onto his backside. Hermione saw a cut on the crown of his head. "But Villy couldn't watch Miss Hermione in so much pain. Villy had to help."

"Help?" Hermione asked. She kept peering over her shoulder at the door.

The elf nodded, then hit the top of his head with his own fist. He whined and stood up. "Villy wasn't told what to do about Miss Hermione. Master says to see to the guests. Villy isn't told that Miss Hermione isn't a guest…" He shook his head violently and stuck a finger back in his mouth, and this time Hermione saw him bit down. "But Villy knows better. Villy knows master doesn't keep guests in the cellar. Master doesn't hurt guests."

"What are you going to do Villy?" Hermione asked. "If you're going to tell them…"

"No!" He shouted, then whispered. "No, Miss Hermione. Villy doesn't tell anyone anything that Villy doesn't want to, if Villy isn't asked. Villy didn't hurt Master Lestrange…" He shook his head even more violently. His ears seemed close to ripping off his head. "Miss Hermione did that. Villy only made Miss Hermione stronger. Master didn't say not to do that."

Hermione remembered the snap. It had seemed to fill her ears in that moment. And it had been impossible for Hermione to move Rodolphus that much on her own. But that was in the past. She needed to think about what would be next. "Villy, you'll help me get out?"

Villy stared silently at her.

"Villy, can you help me?"

He made a moaning sound, then slumped down on the floor. "Villy does what Villy can. Master could ask what Villy does, and Villy must tell him the truth. Villy can't –"

"Okay," Hermione said. "What can you do?"

The elf looked up with sad eyes. "Villy puts things in places. Villy knows the places." He pointed to the door. "There's another out there. And one," he pointed directly up, "Upstairs. Miss Hermione can do the rest. Villy knows."

* * *

 **There has been some questioning (rightfully) of Hermione's choices this year. While I admit that I could improve things with a rewrite, that isn't something I can commit to doing at this time, so we'll have to live with it. On the other hand, she has never been the most logical or stable person - especially this year, and at the end of this year - no matter how much she might protest that point. That's kind of what I'm going for.**

 **Anyhoo, I'm posting the last chapter MMIV right after this. Finally done.**


	19. Sectumsempra

**Chapter XIX**

 **Sectumsempra**

" _BOMBARDA_!" The man flew back against the wall with a crunch. " _BOMBARDA_! _BOMBARDA_! _BOMBARDA_!" Hermione screamed, each time, the man's body thrown against the wall until his slid to the floor in a heap. Why had he just stood there? Why had he just stood there as Hermione screamed and bashed Rodolphus' head into the wall? But then she remembered why Rodolphus had come, and this man probably couldn't tell one sound from the other.

Hermione didn't spare him another look. She tore off towards the stairs at the end of the dimly lit hallway. Villy had told her there would be a man there, just outside of her cell. The door had been locked, but nothing a simple A _lohamora_ couldn't fix.

She sprinted to the top of the stairs and out of the cellar, ignoring the resistance in her legs. Her heart pounded, and adrenaline was running wide open through her body. Hermione burst out of the door, head swiveling around, expecting another host of Death Eaters. Villy said there wouldn't be, but he had also bashed his head into various things, including himself. He was also still the Malfoy elf, and though Hermione had no choice but to trust him in this moment, she didn't still didn't trust him. Regardless, an open door was more chance than Hermione had dreamed of. She wasn't going to stay in the cell and wait.

However, Villy hadn't lied. There was no one around. The halls of Malfoy Manor were empty. Not waiting a moment, Hermione recognized she was on the ground floor, near the parlor. It took her half a minute of running one way, then the other, to find her way to the main hall. The ornate, oak doors barred her way to freedom, and the bright sun of life. She was passing the grand staircase when she heard, "Why are you–?"

On instinct, Hermione slid to a stop. She froze and saw Bellatrix Lestrange on the staircase, similarly frozen. Bellatrix's mouth was half-way open, her long fingers were draped over the bannister. Her hand twitched.

Hermione dashed into the large living room with Bellatrix screaming, " _Incarcero_!" after her. Hermione dove to the floor. Ropes appeared and shot past her, arresting a luxurious armchair. Hermione scrambled across the floor as Bellatrix's next spells missed her by inches. She slid behind a couch, hid for a second, then peered out.

Bellatrix's crazed face was livid. " _Reducto_!" The couch shook.

Hermione conjured up her own rage at seeing the woman's face – her torturer's face. " _Crucio_!" Hermione shot back, but Bellatrix ducked the Unforgivable curse. Had it hit, Hermione would've had no intention of being forgiven. Hermione would have enjoyed watching the witch suffer as she had.

" _REDUCTO_!" The Death Eater screeched. Hermione scampered away as the couch exploded behind her. "You disgusting little mudblood," Bellatrix cackled. "Narcissa will have your head for ruining her décor."

Hermione lunged out to shoot off a curse, but Bellatrix bellowed, " _Sectumsempra_!" Hermione felt something cold hit her left shoulder – enter her shoulder. It felt like a vaccine shot – a needle inserted into her flesh – but it tore through her and left a burning sensation. Hermione hit the floor without uttering any incantation and held her arm to her chest. "You're mine, mudblood." Bellatrix cried in a sing-song voice. "Again." Hermione saw her feet practically skipping across the room.

Hermione tried lifting herself up, but her arm collapsed under her weight. She laid back and stared at the ceiling. She was about to give up when she saw it: the chandelier. Then she looked away from Bellatrix and at the fireplace.

Hermione gathered her strength, raised her right arm and slashed. " _Diffindo_!"

Bellatrix stopped and looked up at the chandelier crashing down towards her. She yelped and dove out of the way.

Hermione summoned her strength and pushed herself up onto her feet, scrambling towards the fireplace. Before she could do anything, she spotted a wand on the mantle. Her wand. _Thanks, Villy_ , was all she thought at the moment, and grabbed it. She took a handful of floo powder and threw it in. "Leaky Cauldron." Immediately, green flames sprouted up and Hermione threw herself in.

The Leaky Cauldron was crowded and loud. Everyone was too busy bustling around to notice the bruised, bloody, fifteen-year-old girl who staggered out of the floo. It was a Friday evening, and time to let go of the week's worries.

Hermione loped through the crowd and grabbed a jacked hung on an empty chair. She gingerly laid it over her bloody shoulder and made her way to the back of the pub, thoughts running through her head. Malfoy had the Ministry in his pocket. She couldn't go to them. They would know, and they would find her.

Going home wasn't an option. It was hours away with muggle transportation, even if she had money, and any magical way to get there would have Death Eaters on her in an instant. She would be dead, as would her parents, and quite possibly her whole neighborhood. Hermione was certain that she had just killed Bellatrix's husband and – now that she remembered the face of the second man she attached – her brother-in-law. It had to be the weasel-faced younger Lestrange. It hadn't registered for Hermione in the moment, but she was sure now. It made sense that those three would be left alone with the mudblood prisoner. No sympathies.

Bellatrix would want vengeance. Hopefully they wouldn't be able to find her parents. It wasn't like they would look them up in a muggle directory.

Hermione now walked down Diagon Alley, with shops closing up for the day. She was brought back from her thoughts by an immense pulse of pain radiating from her shoulder. Hermione stumbled into a wall so that she would not fall. She needed healing, obviously. Her first thought was St. Mungo's. Her second was that it was just as likely she would be found there as if she went to the Ministry.

She paused at an alleyway. Before her was Gringotts. She could withdraw some money and use the Knight Bus. But they would probably be watching the bank, and by the time she was finished there would be no doubt that they would be searching Diagon Alley. Bellatrix had no doubt heard her destination.

Instead, she turned and hurried down to Knocktern Alley. Each step made her weaker and weaker, her legs felt empty, and her muscles were on the verge of giving up. _Hogwarts_ , she thought. _They can't get there_. Madam Pomfrey would never turn away a student. She would fix Hermione up in a jiffy. _Hell, even Dumbledore would have to help me_.

Hermione stopped in front of Borgin and Burke's. The sign said CLOSED, but the door opened. A little bell pealed above the door.

"We're closed, can't you see?" an irate voice called out.

Hermione saw an outline approach her through the dusty haze. " _Stupify_ ," she said. With a flash of red, the man fell. She scanned the store, but she could see no one else. Walking over to the man, she collapsed in front of him. He couldn't know she was here. He had to forget. Not too much, just a few minutes. " _Obliviate_ ," she breathed, trying to focus her spinning head on the task. _Just a few minutes_.

Satisfied, she tried to stand again, but fell immediately in a fit of dizziness. She crawled forward. Each time she pulled herself further, her shoulder cried out in objection. After a minute, she reached the fireplace. Hermione scooped floo powder out of the little tin bucket and threw it. "Hogwarts."

The powder hit the stone slabs. Nothing happened.

She took another handful. "Slytherin common room."

And another. "Dumbledore's office."

No. "No. NO!" Hermione screamed. She slammed the floor with her fists and immediately cursed as a jarring pain leapt down her left arm. Hermione pressed her head to the floor and started crying. She couldn't get to Hogwarts. She didn't know where any of the teachers lived. She couldn't contact Dumbledore. He friends weren't her friends anymore. She was going to die, alone, on the dusty floor of a dirty shop in the scummiest part of the magical world.

Hermione never lived to make a difference, to be special, to have her name live on. She would be, at best, a footnote in a history book saying she was one of the first casualties of Tom's second war. If he won, she would be nothing. What was one more dead mudblood to him? He only cared about killing Potter. Hurting Potter. He was probably hunting Potter right now. How long until Potter was dead? Tom would probably have some fun with his muggle family first, though. Dumbledore had sent Potter back to them again. He even knew Tom was back, and he sent him to suburbia for the summer, as if he didn't have a care in the world that Tom might strike.

Hermione lifted her head an inch.

Dumbledore wasn't afraid for Harry over the summer. He sent him back to the muggles as if everything was fine.

Dumbledore must have put protections there. Tom couldn't get to him there.

Dumbledore would come if Potter called him. Potter would get him. Saint Potter was one of Dumbledore's prized possessions.

If Hermione could get to Potter…

But where did he live? She had seen it once before. Some place… Private? Private Street?

No.

Privet.

Privet Street.

No, Privet Drive.

But what number?

Would it have a floo connection? Surely, yes. Dumbledore would need easy access if he were to check in on his little project.

Hermione hauled herself up and scooped up floo powder. "Privet Drive." She wheezed, throwing the powder. Green flames erupted. She was saved. Potter would definitely call Dumbledore if a Slytherin girl fell out of his fireplace. With a sigh, she collapsed towards the flames.

She rested on the shaggy carpet, too tired to get up. She waited. Waited for someone to notice her. Waited for the screams and shouts. But they didn't come. Hermione opened her eyes.

She was laying on a pink shag carpet, quickly being stained several shades darker by her blood. Hermione's shoulder had bled through the jacket, her arm now had streams of red running down, across the scars Bellatrix left her. _Mudblood_. There was some irony in that. Was it irony? A mudblood's blood seeping in to scars spelling 'mudblood'? Hermione couldn't think that one through. Her head was swimming.

Hermione looked around. There were pictures of cats everywhere. Little figurines of cats. And then there were the cats, perched on the old vinyl couches. Odd glass end tables had little white doilies and brass lamps.

Hermione used her right arm to push herself up. She felt numb everywhere. Her fingertips were pins and needles. But she pushed herself up and forward. "Help," she rasped out of her dry mouth. She tried raising her voice, but she couldn't get more than a harsh whisper.

She stumbled into one of the tables with a crash, shattering a ceramic tabby. Hermione leaned against a wallpapered wall, leaving a bloody smear as she took more steps. No one answered the clatter. She saw a door, a front door. She dashed across to it and flung it open.

A cool summer evening awaited her. The sky was grey and a slight breeze ruffled the flowerbeds along the walkway to the sidewalk. Hermione went forward, her vision blurring with tears. She reached the concrete sidewalk and didn't stop. She stumbled out into the street. "Help," she said again, to no one, before crumbling to her knees, and then to her back.

Hermione stared up at the darkening sky. "You're having a laugh at me, aren't you?" she sighed. "Escape hell only to die in purgatory…" Perhaps it was punishment for being a non-believer – but Hermione didn't really believe that, either. It was just easier to blame things on someone that didn't respond.

As the first plump drops of rain hit her face, Hermione closed her eyes and waited to become a ghost. She tried listing off names of those she wished to haunt. But she could only think of her parents, who had a normal daughter – all things considered – until this magic rubbish happened. Now, they'd be informed that the soaked, bloody, filthy body of their baby girl had been found in the middle of a suburban street during a summer storm, with no clue as to what happened.

What an ignominious end to the greatest witch of her century.

And then Hermione opened her eyes. A peculiar old woman wearing a plastic bonnet and a pink raincoat stared down at her and said, "Oh, dear."

* * *

 **There we go. Just two short years after first posting... "Oh, dear" indeed.**


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